The Last Girl on Earth
by DeathMcGunz
Summary: My name's Pepsi, I'm fourteen, and I fear that I am the last girl on Earth.
1. Pepsi

It's been two weeks, or at least it should be, if I counted right. Two weeks and I haven't moved much, except to use the restroom (which for me, is the corner of the room that I don't frequent). My "room", if you call empty closets rooms, is located, well, actually, I don't know where it's located. I was on my way to the airport, with my family, when the van shook. Once, then twice, then it flipped, rolling four times, if I counted right.

The next thing I knew, I was crawling. I dragged myself across the ground until I found this little room. I got in, shut the door, and prayed that I'd survive. I have so far, but so far isn't good enough. I'm starving, and most likely dehydrated. I've had some water, don't get me wrong, but it was hardly enough for two weeks. I haven't had food though, and I can just feel my body dying without the nourishment. It's painful, and I can bet it's a lot worse than becoming one of those things; those zombies.

It's not like I've been bitten, but I've seen people get bitten, and there's a certain point in the "transformation" when you see that their human side is gone. You can see it in their eyes, almost like they've died and come back anew. This isn't like what Jesus did though, these things like blood, and will do anything to take yours from your body. Sometimes they even forget the blood and just keep tearing. I'd ask my sister what someone would call that, the drinking of human blood, but she's no longer with me, she's no longer with us. She knew everything, or at least she knew everything I ever wanted to know.

I'm sure if she were here, along with my mother, she'd probably be telling me how much of a mess I've been, and how that reflects on my "social standing". Well, I hate to break it to you sister, but social standings are just dust in the wind, along with society and structure; and the human race. There's a thing I like to call karma, and we (we, as in, the human race) have well deserved a nice dish of it to be served to us. I don't really like to believe that this is all our fault, but I mean, I do believe in karma, so what else could it be?

I feel almost too hungry to move, but I have to. I have to get up, stand on my own two feet and feel the warmth of the sun again. I need to be able to see again, because this room is dark, and I like to be able to see my hand with it's a few inches away from me. So I do, I get up and feel around for a door handle of any sort. My hand wraps around something circular, cold and steel, so I twist it. I hear the click as the door comes loose from its place, and I push it open slowly.

The light blinds me immediately, leaving me on my knees with my hands covering my green eyes. I lift them off slowly, but the light still hurts, even when I squint; two weeks of darkness will do that to you. It takes a while, but it wears off and I'm able to look around freely. Seeing once familiar buildings in shambles, the corpses of fellow beings scattered on the pavement, and the blood of the most-likely-innocent spilled makes me wish my eyes had burned holes in themselves when I opened that door.

"Hello?" I call out, cliché, and with the knowing that nothing was going to answer. I look around and spot the writing on the wall behind me. "Gotta give it to CEDA, they sure know how to throw a party," one read. I speak each sentence aloud as I read them, almost as if to make sure that they are actually there.

"This ain't a party, it's genocide."

"Next person to read this is too late."

"Next person to read this isn't going to make it."

"Next person to read this, is the last man on Earth." The last one I speak makes my spine shiver under my skin. Then I see little notes left next to it, and I read them to myself.

"What about a woman?"

"Well I guess that guy's dramatic writing is ruined."

"That's what she said."

"I pray to god that that person isn't the last man on Earth."

"God is dead." Again, my spine shivers. I wish to make my own contribution to the wall. I'd leave a comment asking if anyone was left, because the thought of me being the last man on Earth made my stomach squirm. Then I spot it, a black marker sitting on the ground, in the clasps of a dead man's hand. Reluctantly, I pry it free and pop the cap off, returning to the wall where I think about what to write.

I was never a poet, that was my brother's job, so I just stuck with "Is there anyone left?" After writing it, I put the cap back on and stare at the wall, actually expecting an answer to show up out of nowhere. A jab of pain hits deep in my side and I recognize it as disappointment, something I am used to feeling. My mother always told me that disappointment is a side effect of hope, so it was always a good sign when you felt disappointed.

Well, right now I don't think it's a good sign. I'm all alone, in a city I barely know, without my family, without any food, and I have to decide. Stay here and just hope, or go out and make a difference myself. Food doesn't just drop from the sky, neither do people, so I have to leave.

I don't have anything to pack up, except for the marker, which I tuck into my front, right pocket. Everything else I own is back at my house, which is in god-knows which directions. The only thing I know about this part of town is that I was always told to stay away from it, so, before this day, I had never set foot in it. Well, right now I'm cursing myself for being such a lamb. Damn it, why couldn't I have been a wolf, like my brother? Or at least someone who could stand on their own like my sister, or my mother. I think that's something that's just built into women's genetic code. Damn it, why do I have to be so young?

I think about them and that jab in my side comes back, so I push it away, turning back away from the building I had been in for two weeks. What I see is a road un-traversable by vehicles, but since I'm on foot, I think I can make it. Just a lot of climbing, which is something that I'll admit, I'm pretty good at. Back in the fourth grade I was able to do the rope climb in the shortest amount of time. So I have a little faith in myself. I begin to walk, dirt and ruble crunching under my feet, and I have the fear for the first time.

I'm Pepsi, I'm fourteen years old, and I fear that I am the last girl on Earth.


	2. It

** Thank you all for the reviews. They made me smile.**

Like a lot of people, I fear a whole mess of things, places, objects, and ideas. The one that seems most prevalent, as I begin to use cars as stepping stones to travel down the street, is my fear of being alone. Like I said, I haven't seen or heard anyone in two weeks. Well, that's not entirely true.

I did hear a few people, but that was more like five or six days ago. They were walking around, yelling for help. I was afraid to poke my head out, afraid to show them I was still alive. So they kept moving, not knowing that a little girl was inside of some room, starving, and becoming dehydrated. It's not like they could have done anything. They themselves were calling out for help, which meant that they were most likely in the same position I am now; alone.

It's a very odd word, and just thinking it sends shivers down my spine. It makes me feel sick, even when I'm not already sucking my body dry of all nutrients. I prefer to stick next to people, even if they don't ever realize I'm there, then I can at least pretend that I'm not alone. I don't want to sound nerdy, or anything like that, but I didn't have many friends before my van wrecked. Heck, my family hardly liked me.

I always seemed to be the odd one out, even though there wasn't anything wrong with me. I didn't dress weird, or preppy or anything. I wore the jeans/t-shirt combo more often than not. I wasn't too girly, yet I wasn't a tom-boy either. I played a few sports, and I went to school dances; yet no one ever found me interesting.

I suppose that's what it was anyways. Interesting people are always the important ones. They are the ones that always have boys on their arms at the dance, and they are the ones that are always the envy of people like me, even though I can hardly say we are a 'people'. So far it's just been me, Pepsi, the girl who didn't eat lunch at school (even though I think it tastes delicious) because I didn't want to sit alone. The girl who likes to watch T.V. (especially old rugrats reruns) laying upside down, on the floor. The girl who would die for any kind of ice cream right now.

Gosh, I'd die for anything to eat at this point. I'm starving, and my tummy keeps roaring at me, as if there was a Tiger hiding in there, and it wanted food.

"Well Mr. Tiger," I say, aloud to myself as I hop from the hood of one car to the trunk of another. "I'm looking, so just hold your britches." I'm not quite sure what 'hold your britches' means, but I always heard my grandma say it whenever I got really excited. I had asked her what britches were, and she had simply laughed and said "Pants, my dear." That didn't help me much with figuring out what the phrase meant though. How would holding your pants stop you from getting excited? Tigers don't wear pants anyways. Thanks grandma, for making me feel even more confused.

I don't know how long I was 'car hopping' before I saw something familiar. The familiar thing being a bridge, the bridge my family had always crossed to get to my brother's football games over at the high school. His team wasn't very good, but he was decent enough to get a college scholarship. I jumped for joy, in the security of my sister and mine's room, when he got the acceptance letter in the mail. Partly because it meant my brother was going to make something of his life, but mainly because it meant my sister would get his room, leaving me to have our room to myself.

If I would have known that the next day I would have wound up alone inside of some closet, practically dying, I might have skipped the jumping and packed up a backpack full of food. Heck, I might have even brought a gun, even though I don't know how to shoot one, let along where to find one. I think my dad has some, but I don't even know where he is, or if he's even alive. I don't like thinking like that, but what's a girl supposed to do?

My foot slips as I go to hop from a blue sedan, and I fall to the ground, breaking my fall with my palms. I know there's going to be scratches all over them, maybe even blood, but I look anyways. I let out a sigh, no blood, and I pick myself up off the ground. As soon as I do, my knees buckle, and I get the feeling that I'm vomiting, but there's nothing to get rid of. So I just gag; cough and gag until I get myself under control (which takes me several minutes).

I feel exhausted after that, and I look to the bridge. It makes me feel safe, just like any familiar object would have. If I saw my little, stuffed great-white shark, which I sleep with whenever I can, I would have felt just as safe. I wish I had it here with me. 'Sharky' is what I named it, and it always kept away the bad dreams, leaving me to bask in the glorious ones.

My eye lids droop as I think about Sharky, and I realize It's getting dark. The sun is barely visible behind the towering building on the other side of the bridge. I start to look around, thinking that, without the sun, some giant creature is going to jump out and attack me, or maybe worse; just maim me and leave me lying in the road. That's when I hear 'it'.

'It' is a man, or it was a man at one point. 'It' crouches down on all four on the roofs of buildings, looking down over the streets that it owns. When 'it' sees something that 'it' doesn't like, 'it' jumps. When 'it' jumps it uses all of 'it's' limbs to kick off of the roof, launching itself atop of what 'it' doesn't like, tearing the helpless victim to shreds in a matter of seconds. 'It' wears a black hoody, and 'it's' screech sounds like a thousand people trying to yell with nails lodged in their throats.

I became paralyzed with fear as I heard 'it', and when I saw 'it' my legs yelled "Run you stupid idiot! Move your ass!" I listened to them, turning from 'it' and running even though I had no strength, or energy, left in my body. My legs feel like jello, but the adrenaline in my blood makes them solid, at least for a little bit I hope. I have to make it to another building, or 'it' will get me. I hear it leaping after me, screeching after every pounce. I don't have time to find a door, 'it's' going to get me any second.

A door, more like a shield, comes into my view just up ahead on the next building. It's red, and looks cold, like steel, so I pray that it will keep the leaping thing away from me for the night. I also pray that there is food in it, but with my luck, I'll need more than a prayer from a tired, little girl to get the nourishment I need.

As I reach the door, I panic, trying to pull it open. With my slippery-with-sweat hands, it feels impossible. But, as 'it' leaps for the final distance, the door flings open, colliding with the leaping thing, and knocking 'it' to the ground. I can tell it's not dead, so I hurriedly get inside the door and shut it behind me.

The first thing I notice is that there is a light on in the center of the room, which means that there is still electricity. So, doesn't that mean that there has to be someone to keep the light running? There has to be someone else in the city right? Right? I collapse to the ground in tears, almost as if I already knew the answer. I saw something on the Discovery channel once that said that, without proper maintenance, power grids would stay running for around two weeks. So that meant there was someone. Right?

It had been a little over two weeks and this light was still working. I can't hear a generator or anything, so someone has to be keeping it running. Then it goes out, as if my thoughts were signals to those up above to hit the "screw Pepsi" button. I curse, several times before crying some more. The crying leads to more "vomiting", and I swear I was on the ground, freezing my butt off, for hours, just trying to throw up the food I hadn't eaten.

I got the tears to stop, and the vomiting soon ceased afterwards, allowing me to sit upright. I look around, noticing more writing on the walls, but my vision is too blurry to read it. I feel like I'm dying, and I don't even know what dying feels like; I just know that it's this feeling. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, smelling…chocolate.

That can't be. I breathe in again, this time only through my nose, and, holy shit, the smell is still there. Chocolate. The unmistakable smell of chocolate. Not the crappy cocoa beans either, but real, manufactured, chocolate. The kind that comes in the decorative wrappers and everything.

The room has another door, like the one I came through, on the opposite side, leading into the building, and I know that's where the smell is coming from. The door doesn't make me feel safe though, because now I realize that they were made to keep things from coming in. What do I do if I go out there looking for this chocolate, and I run into that leaping thing again? I die, that's what. Gosh Pepsi, if you're going to ask yourself question, at least make them a little more challenging.

My eyes, even though tired, and weak, scan the room, finding a small table up against one of the brick walls. The table holds various boxes, labled with words such as "Smith & Wesson", or numbers like ".45". I have no idea what they do, except that my dad has them for his guns, and I don't have a gun, so they are worthless to me. But leaning on the table, in all its rusted glory, is a crow bar. I've seen people break down doors with these things in movies, so it could most likely stop that leaping thing from getting me.

I pick it up, gripping it in my hands like a baseball bat, just like my brother showed me. Even now I wasn't doing it wrong, I could tell. It felt loose, and lazy, and "that", my brother had said, "should not feel that way." He had said something about thumbs, but I couldn't remember; in one ear and out the other my mother had always told me. I'm surprised that didn't do the same.

The door leading into the building feels a lot easier to open, now that my hands aren't covered in sweat, so I push it open. I don't see the leaping thing, but I smell the chocolate, so I start walking. For some reason my legs are still yelling at me, saying "Run you stupid idiot! Move your ass!"


	3. Centerfield

Death creeps, did you know that? It's not as sudden as anyone may think. You feel it coming upon you for hours, or if you're in my shoes, it's been fourteen days, going on day fifteen. I've felt it ever since the van flipped, and it's gotten stronger every minute. Now it's as if an axe is diving into my head, pinning a headache to me like a tail on a donkey.

The rusty crowbar I'm holding leaves bits of old metal, and a dirty-orange color on my hands. For some reason, I feel like I should wash them, even though that's completely out of the question, and the last thing I should be thinking about doing right now. I want that chocolate. I need the damn chocolate. Hell, even if it's not chocolate, I need something to eat. I'm going to fucking die if Mr. Tiger doesn't get his damn meal!

I realize I'm yelling inside my own head just as soon as I realize I'm actually yelling. It frightens me, because I didn't even mean to think in an angry tone, let alone end up screaming at myself. It makes me feel crazy, even though I'm not entirely sure what 'crazy' is. I have a cousin, and most of my family call him Jake, but my brother calls him 'Crazy'. He says that, without the help of a special teacher, Jake couldn't even "wipe his own ass". If that's what 'crazy' is, then I pray that I'm not crazy.

My eyes gaze around at the building that I've found myself in; the one that's near the bridge that brings up a lot of memories. I can't tell what it is now, but I can tell that it once was a shoe store. I can't recall if I've ever purchased a pair from this particular store, but I remember coming here once. It must have been years ago, back when I was a little kid, because I hardly remember a thing.

The shoes are scattered all over the place, and I can't help but look around for a pair that I might like, as I try to make my way towards the source of the smell. I don't see anything that strikes my interest, considering that everything is either grimy or covered in blood (or at least I think it's blood). The first time I'd seen blood was during my first year of junior high.

I had just joined the volleyball team and we were practicing serves, or spikes, or something like that, and when it came time for me to try whatever it was we were doing, the ball smacked me right in the face. I tried to play it off like it didn't hurt even though it stung, making my eyes water. Then I felt the rush of blood down the front of my face, I even tasted it as it fell into my mouth. The other girls laughed, pointing at my face and saying some things I couldn't understand over my sobs. Yeah, that's right, I started crying. Who wouldn't have?

I remember running to the girls' bathroom on the other end of the school, dripping blood the entire way, sobbing in gibberish and wishing I was anywhere but there. Not only was that the first time I'd seen blood, but it was the most embarrassing moment of my life. Well, maybe not the most embarrassing, but pretty darn close.

My knees grow weak and I drop to the floor, feeling dizzy, like I'm going to 'throw up' again. I don't really know why, but I can't, for the life of me, get back up. My legs are wobbly and unstable, leaving me like a little turtle, except I don't have a giant shield on my back, protecting me from the rest of the world. I wish I was a turtle, then I'd be safe. I'd be used to the situation I'm in right now. I most likely wouldn't be afraid.

"Get a grip, Pepsi." I say to myself. "Just get a damn grip." I suppose I do it to try to motivate myself, and it works to some degree. I'm finally able to stand on my own two, rickety legs. Not wanting to wait for the chocolate, I immediately try to take a step forward, and luckily for me, my knees stay firm. So I take another, and another, and another,

"Just put one foot in front of the other…" I sing to myself as I begin to walk again, heading towards the opposite side of the old shoe store. That's where the smell is coming from, or at least that's what my nose is telling me. I make sure to step over the shoes, because for some reason I think it would be rude to get my grimy shoes all over them; even though they are already dirty and whethered, most likely from people walking all over them.

It's hard to imagine other people being in this building for some reason. It feels like it's mine, like I claimed it under the name of Pepsi, supreme ruler of herself and nothing else. It's like this one quote from a movie I like a lot, "Sixteen months and you can get used to anything". Except, in my case, it hadn't even been one month yet. Only fifteen days and I was practically used to the idea of being alone, even if it did scare the hell out of me. I don't think I should feel proud about that.

I hear something; something get knocked over. It's most likely an empty box of shoes, but I still hear it, and it still gets me into my 'batters stance' that my brother had taught me; the crowbar raised over my head, and my feet spread apart as if I was standing in a batter's box. I look around, trying to find the source of the noise, but my eyes don't pick anything up.

Then I stop. What am I doing? Why do I have this crowbar? What if whoever made that noise is here to help me? What if I'm not alone?

"Hey!" I yell towards the end of the building, hearing it echo. "Hey! Is there anyone there? I need help…" My tummy growls, and I place my hand over it to calm it down. "I need food!"

The only response I get is another sound; this one is more like a piece of metal dropping to the tiled floor. It makes me shudder, but I tell myself I'm stupid. I'm saved, is what I keep yelling at myself as the thing that makes the sound, does what it does best; make another sound.

"Hey!" I scream again. "I'm over here! I need your damn help! Get your butt over here and save me!" I hear a growl, almost like a dog's, and then I hear footsteps, but they aren't walking, they are sprinting. They are coming right for me too.

The thing that has been making all of the sound (the thing I thought was here to save me) comes out from around a rack of shoes. It's nasty, is what I think to myself as it comes towards me. There is a dark crimson substance (dried blood maybe?) covering a majority of its body, and wherever isn't covered by that is just a lump of this pink, pulsating mass. I don't know what it is, but it makes me want to 'vomit' again.

"Are you here to save me?" I know it's not, mainly because of the apparent lack of a bottom jaw, but also because it moans, but not just any moan, it's like a moan only a dead person can make. It reminds me of the moan I heard my grandma make before she passed several years ago, when I was the only one in the room, sitting next to her bed hoping that it wouldn't be me.

I panic as it runs towards me, and I know I don't have any time to panic, because it is running, and the store is fairly small. Remembering the crowbar in my hand, and the little, crappy training session my brother gave me, I get back into my "batter's stance". I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm hoping that whatever I hit soars over the centerfield fence and all the fans jump up screaming "Home run! Pepsi got a home run!"

It's coming close, and for some reason I feel irritated because it's not already here, looming it's nasty face over my head. I want to hit it now, I want it to be dead and gone, because I can tell it's not human, even if it used to be. My sister had always said that (while we played Halo) that if she ever became a "flood", which is some weird creature in that game, then she'd want me to kill her. She said she wouldn't be my sister anymore, and that's how I'm sure this thing felt at one point.

Maybe a few days ago it had been a father, or a brother, and it probably told their kids or siblings that "if I become one of those things, I want you to kill me". And since apparently they weren't able to do that, I have to do it instead. Even if I didn't, I'd still have to kill it, because it's going to kill me if I don't.

It comes closer and I bring the crowbar back as far as I can, remembering what my brother taught me. Right as it reaches out to grab me, most likely to tear off my jaw so it'll have a counterpart, I swing, and boy do I swing hard. The crowbar comes around and connects with the thing's head, knocking it clear off, straight towards centerfield fence. I'm sure it cleared it.


	4. Crunch

I gasp, dropping the crowbar and watching the now-dead body fall to the ground. The crowbar clanks, but the body just makes a dull thud; a dead thud. I just killed someone, but I tell myself that it wasn't "someone" it was something. It was just a creature, the shell of what was once human but is now something much different; just like "It".

Thinking of "It's" screech makes my spine shiver, and looking down at the disgusting corpse makes my gag reflex activate. I drop to the ground near it, coughing uncontrollably as I try to stop myself from vomiting up nothing, again. Who knew that dying would make your body want to evacuate all stomach materials?

I get myself under control, rolling onto my back. The tile feels nice on me, and I start to close my eyes, thinking of sleep. They snap back open when I remember some Drama show I had seen a few weeks ago. In the show there was a cop (or something) dying, he had been shot somewhere in the abdomen, but that's not really important. The important part is that he was dying, and whenever he went to close his eyes to rest, his partner (or I think it was his partner) would smack him, just to keep his eyes open. I have to do the same.

If I go to sleep I won't wake up. I know that much, and that's all I really need to know. Don't go to sleep, Pepsi, you won't ever wake up; ever. I know my brother would know some kind of trick to keep me up, like a game, or maybe a story. He could always stay up really late, and for some reason, my sister and me, could not. We'd always ask him, "how're you able to do that?" but he'd never answer. He'd just smile his charismatic smile and waltz off.

Damn it! Why didn't he ever tell us? I need to know how, like, right now, or I'm going to die.

"Wherever you are, I hope you stub your toe." I say it quietly to myself, squinting my eyes out of anger, and keeping my lips closed tight. Getting myself up is a lot harder than I imagined it being, and it takes several times before I'm actually standing on both of my feet, cursing myself for not grabbing the crowbar on the way up.

Then I smell it again. It's wafting, right in front of my face, taunting me. "Come and get me Pepsi. I'm just a big ol' chocolate car, and I'm all yours. You just have to find me." I imagine it having an Irish accent, most likely because I absolutely love lucky charms, but I'm still unsure of my decision. A Bostonian accent might fit better, or maybe even Australian. Wait a second. Who the heck cares? It's a friggin chocolate bar!

I shake the stupid thoughts from my head and scoop up the crow bar before heading towards the smell. I want the damn chocolate; I'm starting to get aggravated. Actually, I'm way past aggravated. I'm just peed off now, as my mom would say. She used a different word, but the one time I said that word, she told me that only guys could say it. But she's a woman, so I didn't quite understand, and I still don't. It worked though, because I don't ever say it. It'd make me feel icky.

The end of the building is in my sight, and I see another one of those doors; the red ones, that are made of steel. They make me feel safe, so I try to run towards it, but my run (at this point) is more like a hobble. So, I just hobble my way to the door, using all of my non-existent strength to pull it open. Inside my eyes immediately catch more writing.

"CEDA sucks!" That's the first, and biggest thing, taking up a nice portion of the right hand wall. Under it are several replies, such as: "Tell me about it." "Nice story bro!" "At least they're doing something."

"What are they doing?" Someone replied under the last one.

"I don't know." It was a different color, so I highly doubt the same person answered, but someone did.

"Then shut the fuck up!" A marker the exact same color as the first reply wrote that, which makes me think 'Why didn't they just talk in person?', or 'Why did that guy come back?' I laugh to myself, thinking about the different situations the guy could have been in that brought him here, let him leave, and brought him back. It could have anything, from one of those 'once-humans', this 'CEDA' guy, or, heck, maybe he just had to get himself a new pair of heels.

That's when I start laughing. The laughing leads to coughing, which leads to hacking, which leads to me curled up on the floor, tearing up from the pain, and the laughter. I'm smiling the entire time though, even when it's over I find myself smiling. Getting up is a little easier than last time, but that might be because I use the crowbar as support. Even when I stand, I use it as a crutch. I can't believe I didn't think of that before.

I look around the other walls, reading a few of the other bits of words. I see some interesting ones, like: "Team Edward- 0, Team Jacob- 0, Team Zombie- A whole fuck load", "Grandma got ran over by a reindeer" and a reply saying, "Lucky bitch". Then I saw some sad ones, "Chris, I lost the kids. Heading to your mother's. I hope you're ok.–Susan", and "R.I.P Derek, Julie, Nolan, and the rest of the Rodger's".

The walls feel more like a piece of history now, instead of just bricks stacked on even more bricks. Again, I want to contribute, but I don't know what to write. I could write "Is anyone there?" again, but I don't want to come back here, so it would be worthless. I decide to write something for my family, more specifically for my brother, since he helped save me from that thing that used to be a human.

"Thanks bro," I start, taking the marker from my pocket and finding a nice empty spot on the wall. "I hit a homerun finally! I hope you're proud.- Pepsi." The gagging feeling comes back again, but I swallow it down, telling myself that there is chocolate close by. It'll be ok Mr. Tiger. Gosh, I hope Tigers chocolate. What kind of person doesn't like chocolate anyways?

I stuff the marker back into my pocket before heading to the opposite side of the room that I came in on. There's another door, of course, so I open it, trying to do it slowly, just like I always see those army guys doing in the movies. What I see is just like the street I just left, except now it's night time, so honestly I don't see much. There aren't any street lights, and the only thing I can think about is that leaping thing. Now I won't see it coming.

How do you stop something from jumping on you? I repeat the question over and over again, until the answer comes to me. You get above it. But how am I going to get above it? Climb? But where? There aren't just ladders sitting on buildings. But then I see it; a fire escape. It's on the building I just came out of, just to my right, and luckily the ladder to get onto it is already down.

I wrap my hands around the first few rungs, and begin to climb. I can feel death, you know? The creeping feeling? Yeah, well I feel it a little more with every rung, until eventually I'm crawling onto the roof, feeling my eyelidss drop over my eyes. I smack myself, just once, to keep my eyes open. And I'm glad I did.

The roof, I see, was once a campsite for someone, or multiple someones. There are sleeping bags, a small camp fire (now smoldering), and a few back packs. The first thing I think about is the chocolate. Where is it? The back packs? I reach for one and tear it open, dumping out the contents to only find a few matches and some extra changes of clothes.

I curse and crawl to the next one, doing the same to it, and, holy shit, I find it. A "Crunch" bar. Just one, and it's been partially eaten, but I don't care. I rip the wrapper off of it and shove it into my mouth, feeling the smooth, milky, chocolate as it melts in my mouth and rolls down my throat.

Death creeps its ass out of my head as I eat the rest of it. It's not much, but the small, wooden bridges gapping the building next to my right, promise more food, and possibly more people.

Calm down Mr. Tiger, I can take care of you.


	5. Metallica

**Thanks for all the reviews and feedback. Every single one of them is amazing, and I try to reply to each one. I do take suggestions and Ideas, as The Dramatic Runner has asked. He had a very interesting idea that might be poking its head out in an upcoming chapter. Well, anyways, thanks gain for all of the reviews. They still make me smile. **

Rifling through the other bags I come across a few different things that catch my eye. First, I find a key. What it goes to, I am completely unsure, but I still tuck it in my pocket. Next, noticing the clothes I am wearing smell of sweat, shit, blood and death, I begin searching for a random shirt to exchange mine for. That leads me to an old concert shirt, that says "Metallica" on the front, with a picture that seems reminiscent of the situation I'm in, and on the back there is just a list of various cities that the concert took place.

I was never a huge music fan, to be honest. I listened to the radio when it was on, and I took a fancy to movie, and videogame soundtracks, but other than that, I wasn't into it. I don't know what it was, I just never heard anything worth buying. It all seemed mediocre to me, but then again, I'm only fourteen, so my opinion might not be as "valid" as yours. Yet, I love the shirt.

It's black, and the lettering is in a wicked font that's painted a brilliant green. And, like I said, the picture on the front reminds me of the situation I'm in. So I strip off my tattered and torn shirt, fearful of looking down and seeing my ribs jabbing through my skin, and toss the Metallica shirt on over my withering body. It falls over me like a sheet, being several (and I mean several) sizes too big for me. It's an XL, which means it would have been large on me even if I had been eating steadily for the past two weeks; really large. I reach my hands behind my back and tie the shirt so that it stays secure on my waist. My sister taught me how to do that, and I always did it. I would purposely wear my dad's shirts just so I could do it. I don't know what it is, I just love the look, and feel, of it.

With that done, I reach to touch my hair, but I stop. It's been two weeks without a shower, and my hair hasn't been removed from its pony tail; there is no way I am going to mess with it now. It's fine like it is, and I don't want to die from the pain of untangling the wads; not after what I've already been through.

Unluckily for me, there isn't any food left on the roof, and my only option seems to be to continue along this path that seems to be set out before me. Heights don't bother me, but I do fear about what lurks below, and maybe even what lurks up here, with me. So, needless to say, I'm nervous about crossing from my roof over to the next, even when there is a bridge connecting the two. But I have too, right? I cant' just sit and wait. I've already discussed this before. I have to keep moving. End of story.

But there's still one more thing in the bags that I can't help but take with me. It's an old, beaten-half-to-death CD player, with the headphones wrapped neatly around it. I unwrap the headphones (which are just two little ear buds) and put them in my ears. It feels odd, most likely because I'd only done it a few times before, but it makes me feel a little better. Almost as if it makes me feel normal, even in this ridiculous place. Afraid that there might not even be a CD inside of the thing, I hit the play button and am immediately blown off of my feet.

"Give me fuel, give me fire, give that which I desire!" The man on the CD screams at me before the actual music starts up. It's heavy, something I would have never listened to before this day, but this day is different. I hate to admit it, but on this day I'm desperate enough to listen to anything, eat anything, and walk on anything, so I keep the CD playing, even as the song gets heavier and heavier.

I keep the volume up loud enough to block out any sound that might want to come in to my ears. It deafens me a first, but I adjust, rather quickly I might add, and actually begin to enjoy it. Not just the volume though, but the music as well. I don't know what it is, but I like this song. It gets my heart beating, and my blood pumping. It's almost like an anthem for me at this point. I sing it to myself as I cross over to the other building. "Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire."

That is what I want after all. I want fuel for my body, I want fire for my heart, and I desire some damn food, and I desire it now. Mr. Tiger isn't going to stay down for long with just that little chocolate bar in his grasps; I need to pull out the big guns to keep him down, and to keep me alive. I'm still dying after all. My body is still withering away underneath this rather large Metallica shirt.

When the song ends, I hit the back button, just so I can hear it one more time. I can sing a few of the parts now, and I do, making sure to not be able to hear myself when I do it. I'm not sure if I'm a good singer, but I'd hate to find out that I'm a terrible one. I'm not sure if that's an idea people would consider sane, but I don't care, because there aren't any "people" anymore. It's just me, some dying little girl.

I begin to see arrows that were painted on to the ground in a simply-white color. The first one points me away from the building I came from, which makes me feel better that I was actually following the path before I knew it was there. The second one leads me off of this building, across another bridge, and onto a third building. This one is a little higher up, and the building next to it is even taller.

The arrow aren't pointing to it though, they are pointing to the edge of the building, the one that overlooks the street I had been one just a few hours ago. I realize I can hardly see anything still, because of the lack of sun. I need to find a place to stay, so I can eat, and sleep, but where? Hopefully the arrows will show me.

The music keeps playing as I follow the arrow to a stair well on the building, which will lead me down into said building. I hesitantly open the door, realizing I left the crowbar back on the first roof. Damn it Pepsi! You need to keep a better eye on things!

Oh, well I'm sorry it's hard to see a damn thing without any light! I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at myself for being angry at myself. I rush down the stairs, and remember that the lights are out now, so it's just as dark in there as it was outside, maybe even darker.

I trip over something and fall straight on my face. The CD player gets jostled from my hand and slides away from me. The headphones jerk out of it and are left hanging from my ears as I sprawl my arms out, trying to find anything to grab onto. My head feels dizzy from the fall, and I think I feel something in my nose. Oh gosh, I hope it's not blood. I've had enough of that crap for the day.

My hand smacks a drawer and I curse at the sudden jolt of pain, but then I rejoice, because I've actually found something. I search it for the handle, and when it comes into my little finger I pull it open. Of course, it smacks me in the forehead, but it doesn't hurt as bad as the fall had. Watch what you're fucking doing, Pepsi. You only have one life remember?

I rummage around in the drawer, not knowing what could be in it. I'm hoping for a flashlight, please give me a flashlight. Anything that produces light would be good really, so please, anything like that. Just give me a damn flashlight. Just one, measly, flashlight. My hand wraps around it, and I pull it slowly from the drawer, as if it is an ancient artifact, and I could damage it with a sudden movement.

Oh please work. Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please! I flip the switch, and at first nothing happens. But, when I drop it, the light flickers and then kicks on, shinning a bright light across the room. I might have been happy at that point, but what the light shows me makes me scared for my life. I see a body, rotating in the air, suspended at the neck by a rope.

I'd seen something like that before, but that had been an accident my mom had told me. That time I walked into my grandpa's house, so happy that I beat my brother up the steps, and I saw his body doing the same thing by the kitchen. I didn't know what was happening, and I still don't, not really. I know, from my dad, that the person is dead, and that they aren't coming back, but is that all? Why did they do it?

No one ever answered that question for Grandpa, they just ignored me like always. My questions aren't important, they are only annoying, or at least that's what my brother had told me after my grandpa's funeral. I remember the day perfectly, because I'd never felt worse in my entire life. Not even now, while I lay on this floor, in a pitch-black room, with one little beam of light showing me a dead body. Here there aren't any people to give me dirty looks, or tell me I'm an idiot when I ask a question. There aren't any people to make fun of my name, or push me because I'm "just a silly girl". No, this day is like heaven compared to that day.

I reach and pick up the flashlight, shinning it around the room, seeing that I am in some sort of storage closet. There are a few ladders, a few buckets, and a lot of tools, all of which seem pretty useless to me. I couldn't lift the ladder if I wanted it, and when I filled the bucket with something, it would then be too heavy for me to pick up. I sighed and turned the beam of light back to the other side of the room, where I see the rope hanging, but the body is missing. My legs tell me to "Run you stupid idiot! Move your ass!"


	6. Lucky

**Thank you all again. I love each and every one of your reviews, and I hope you continue to love my story. Everyone I get makes me smile. Can'tBeToCareful, I hope you're happy. **

I seriously don't know what to do. Was there even a body there? Was I just imagining it? I have no clue. I haven't had much food for two weeks, so it's probable. But I'm positive it was there. It had to be. Where could it have gone? From what I know, this room is pretty small, so, maybe I was just seeing something; something that wasn't real.

Then I hear something, like a broom hitting the floor. My flashlight snaps to that direction and I catch a glimpse of a leg; a torn up leg. A leg that looks like it had been bitten several times, and not by a dog either. My heart stops, but I have to stand up. I have to get up and get out of this room before whatever was hanging from that rope, apparently dead at the time, comes after me.

I force myself up, making sure to keep the flashlight pointed down until I'm standing. Lifting it towards where the broom is, I expect to see some hideous creature, waiting to pounce on me, but instead I just see the broom, lying un-animated on the ground. My breathing is heavy as fear grips my heart, but I try to keep quiet, afraid of what this thing might do if it hears me.

The flashlight follows my hand as it aims its way around the room, revealing every corner, and every object, until it reveals a suit. It's a business suit, one that looks like it has been worn several times. It's brown and it looks rather cheap to be perfectly honest. But there's one unique feature about it; its expanding and diminishing in a pattern. Almost like there is an air pump pushing air in, and taking air out at timed intervals. Almost like its breathing.

"Oh shit." I say, knowing that it's too late. The man who had once been hanging from a rope flings both of his arms out, knocking little-ole-me off of my feet. I fly backwards, through an apparently open doorway, and down approximately ten stairs (if I counted correctly). I reach bottom and I feel blind because it's just as dark as it was up stairs, and my flashlight got knocked from my hand (of course). I feel around for it, but I feel a little odd, like I'm going to throw up. No, that's not it. It's more like, I feel as if I'm going to…die.

No, it can't be. I ate the chocolate, I should be alright. I should be saved now. My head just hurts, that's all. It's nothing more than that. I reach my hand behind my head, just to prove to myself that I'm ok, but I feel something thick, and sticky. I don't even have to look and I know what it is; and its definitely not jelly-fish jelly, that's for dang sure.

I don't have time for this, so my hands sprawl out, looking for the flash light just like I had done only moments before. I grab something round, but it's not the flashlight, there's not a switch on it to turn it on. There is a nozzle on the top though, so I press it. It makes a hissing sound as it shoots out some kind of air-freshener-type thing. What the hell am I going to do with this? Make the hanging guy smell good until he can't simply bear it? I wish.

Dropping the can in front of me, my hands sprawl out again, searching for the flashlight. I find something small, something plastic, something that can make light. It's a lighter, a very crappy one, like the kind you'd buy at your local gas station for seventy-five cents. I light it, giving myself a little light; just enough light to see the guy shambling down the stairs towards me.

What am I going to do? Burn him to death with this lighter? It doesn't even give me enough light to see an exit, let alone enough heat to burn this creature; this "once-human". No, I can burn him. I remember from some TV show, where a man used a spray can, like the one I had just put down, and a lighter to make a flamethrower. But does it really work? Would it really work, or would it be like everything else I try and backfire on me? I don't want to burn to death while this man attacks me. That'd be shitty.

It's worth a shot though. There's nothing else I can do, so my hand scrambles for the spray can. I retrieve it from the darkened ground and hold it up to the lighter, immediately seeing a warning sign that reads "flammable". I smile and point the can towards the man, who has no idea what's about to happen to him. The lighter finds its way in front of the nozzle and my dirty thumb lights it. It takes a few tries, but I get it, gosh dang do I get it.

"Yippee-kai- yay mother fucker." Quoting Bruce Willis has always been a dream of mine, and now it's coming true. I press down the nozzle, ejecting a spray of flammable mist out of it. It lights, jetting fire towards the man who had been hanging when I found my way into this god-forsaken building. At first it doesn't touch him, but he catches, and when he catches he begins to scream. But it's not a scream of pain, he can't feel pain anymore, it's more like a scream of anger. Like a "how-in-the-hell-did-this-little-girl-beat-me?" kind of scream.

I laugh at first, not believing that I could actually take down this life-eating creature, but then I realize I haven't yet. It's still coming towards me, even with fire covering its entire body. It doesn't feel pain, so really I just gave it a weapon, made it more deadly. How the heck could I be so stupid? What do I do now? I'm trapped. The only thing behind me is a window, and I'm pretty high up, so there's no chance in me surviving the fall.

It continues to stumble towards me and I begin to back up, getting closer and closer to the window with each step. I don't know where to go so I just keep spraying the fire at the thing, hoping that enough will eventually stop it. It feels futile though, because it just keeps coming, without even the slightest change in posture.

"Die damn it!" I scream, still trying to burn it to the ground. "Just die!" I let out a scream as its on-fire arms grab me, and we both go crashing through the window. The fall doesn't even last a second, and I didn't even feel myself hit the ground, because I don't. My Metallica, the large one that's tied in the back to make it fit my waist, snagged on the edge of the window as soon as I crashed through, saving me from a fall.

I lose my breath at first, but as it comes back I begin to laugh hysterically. I am one lucky lady. My shirt catching on the window? Really? That's something that only happens in Harrison Ford movies. I have to be the luckiest person on this Earth. Unless I happen to be the last one, which means it might have been better for me to just fall the several stories to the hard pavement, where the flaming man now lies.

Turning my body so that I am facing the broken window, I grab the window sill with my already bruised hands. Pulling myself up seems a lot easier than it should have been, considering I'm bleeding from my head and I just got tackled from a window. But I don't complain. I just lay back and thank god for Metallica; Metallica and my brother. Because if it weren't for Metallica, I wouldn't have had the shirt that just saved my life, and if it weren't for my brother, I wouldn't have known to stay awake when I felt like I was dying.

With the moon light shinning in through the window, finding the flashlight and shinning it into my eyes is an easy task. I let out a sigh of relief as I aim it around the room, looking for a place to sit down and wait for the sunrise, but what I see beats out any seat in the world. There's a table, a very long dining room table, which holds a meal that looks like it was going to be served to a large family, around five or six people. Now it was all going to me, I don't care how much it makes my tummy hurt.


	7. Reasons

I wake up to the darkness, my stomach feeling like it is going to explode, and thinking for a moment that I am back in my bedroom, just waking up from a nightmare. Well, I'm not in my bedroom, I'm lying on the floor of some dining room that belonged to a rather large family, I presume. I ate everything that was on the table, and I can faintly remember trying to make it to the couch before I collapsed and my eyes closed. I tried to keep myself awake out of instinct, but there was no need. I'm still alive, and even if I am alone, I'm grateful.

I feel a little stupid for eating all of the food on the table, but there's nothing I can do now, except keep moving. The thought makes me sick, I'd honestly rather just sit here and wait to die. There is danger out there, and in here I can at least feel safe, even if I'm not. There's probably more food on different floors, if I go check maybe I can stockpile enough to keep me alive for another couple weeks. Who am I kidding? This whole situation is hopeless, and the only way I can keep hope alive is to tell myself that there are other people. What's the only way to find these people? Survey says…go out and find them, good job Pepsi. Your grand prize? Oh, it's being thrust back onto the streets that tried to kill you yesterday.

Was it yesterday? How long have I slept? Did I sleep a full twenty-four hours (give or take), or did I only sleep for a few? It feels more like twenty-four hours, and besides, it seems like the sun is about to come up. In all horror movies that's always a good sign, so I'm going to take it as one too. I feel a little better actually. Hey, tricking yourself into having hope isn't that hard. Gosh, I wish I would have known that before, maybe I wouldn't be in this situation.

That doesn't make much sense does it? Why would I think that? How I got into this situation has nothing to do with who I am. I got here by complete accident, right? It was a car crash, but how did I get in that vehicle? Well duh, I opened the door and climbed in. But why was I in it? We were going somewhere, but where? Who else was even in the van?

I think It was just me; me and my mom. Then where was everyone else? They were at home, most likely picking up the mess I had just made. Why did I make a mess? I don't remember spilling anything, and why would my mom take me away after making a simple mess? Well, because it wasn't just a simple mess, was it? It was a big mess, and it wasn't the first.

It started as a simple fight, between me and my sister. We were discussing my brother, and his going to college. My sister didn't think it was right for him to get a "free ride". She thought he should have to work to pay for school, just like she was going to have to and I thought that "was absolute bull shit". My brother did work hard to get that scholarship, he deserved everything he was getting, and even more. My sister wouldn't listen though, she just started screaming, like some four year old who got her toy taken away.

That's how all of our fights go though, so what changed? Did she do something, or did I? I think I did…I think I did something drastic. I think I hit her, and not with a sissy-slap, but with a tight-clenched fist. That was the mess; it was her blood. That's why they weren't in the car, and that's why I was, and why my mom was driving through this part of town.

Whenever my mom thought I was "too much to handle" she would take me to my dad's. He lives across the bridge, the one that stands out in my mind. That's why I was in the car. It was because of who I am. Am I being punished? For what? Speaking my mind? That's just stupid. I hate to say it, but maybe I'm glad that I'm alone now.

A tear forms at my eye, and travels down my cheek. I feel weak, and lonely. It's my fault, so I fall to the floor, in the dark, and cry. I cry until the only thing coming from me are dry coughs and sick gasps of air. I end up curled up like a child, the Metallica shirt hanging over my body like a tent, keeping me sheltered from the darkness that surrounds me.

I think about my brother, and how much I love him. I pray that he is alright, even though it seems like no one is alright. Not even me. I mean look at me. I'm curled up on the floor, crying. I'm wishing I was dreaming so I could get some advice from him. He'd probably tell me that the sun rises in the east, so that means I'm on the opposite side of the bridge from dad's home. That should be my next goal, is what he'd tell me, because even when you can't find anyone to trust, you can always find dad. I'd think it was lame, but I'd still listen.

What's stopping me from listening now? Nothing. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to my dad's, and I hope that he's there, and if he isn't, then at least there will be food, and a familiar place to sleep. Yeah, that sounds great. A bed instead of a floor. I feel sick still, but that's most likely because of what I'm thinking about doing. I have to get down to the bottom floor, exit out into the slowly brightening street, cross a bridge, a rather long bridge I might add, and somehow find my dad's house. I think I have the right to be extremely nervous.

Looking around the room I'm in, I find the staircase that will get me down to the next floor, and I walk to it slowly. I grab the CD player on the way, sticking the re-found ear-buds into my ears and pressing the play button. I hear the violent music begin to play and I listen to the words, trying to memorize them so I can sing them the next time I get to this song. I follow the stairs down, floor after floor, until I'm at the lobby of the apartment complex.

It's a wreck; papers everywhere, luggage carriers spilled over, several blood stains splattered on the wall, and the corpse of what appeared to be the attendant whom usually sits behind the counter. Expecting him to get up and come after me, just like the guy hanging from the rope did, I run out of the lobby onto the grimy sidewalk. It's nice and cool out here, and with the sun slowly rising I can actually see more than a few inches in front of me. Objects are beginning to form in my vision, and my eyes don't have to force themselves to do the simple task of seeing anymore.

I almost feel relieved, but that's not quite it. It's more like glad. I feel glad, not to the point of being happy, but one step below that. I think it would be impossible to be happy right now. I think it's impossible to be happy when you're alone. But I'm not technically alone. "It" is here, on the rooftops, watching my every move.

**Thanks for reading, and hopefully reviewing. I'd like to know what you guys would like to see happen in the story, or where you think the story is going. Thanks again. **


	8. Family

The bridge is always looming in front of me, standing like a symbol of hope, or maybe death, as I inch closer to it. The sun has come up and it gives me that sense of warmth, but I feel the fear inside me, and it's growing. It's making me want to do bad things to myself. It makes me not want to live anymore.

My father won't be alive, I know that. Then why am I kidding myself? What is walking to his house going to change? I'm just going to be hungry, tired, and without a father when I get there. It's almost like I'm a masochist and I'm doing whatever I can to hurt myself. Like I want to commit emotional suicide.

Maybe I do. Maybe that's what this feeling inside me is. What would I do if I wanted to die? I don't think I could do that to myself, even if I wanted it. Or could I? I have no clue. I've never been faced with this situation before. Besides my mother siding with my sister all of the time, I've lived a rather peaceful and sheltered life. I've never felt terror, or panic. That's what it is. That's what I feel right now though. It's heavy, like a led vest, and my heart's the one that's wearing it.

I have so many questions racing through my head, with so many possible outcomes. I can see myself reuniting with my dad, being happy, and living with him again, like I always wanted to. I can see myself being torn to shreds by "It" and rotting on the side of the road like some animal that got hit by a car. There's also the possibility that I'll find my dad, but not in the way I want to. He could be dead, or maimed, or one of those once-humans. There are just too many possibilities, and It just makes me want to run; run until my leg muscles tear out of my skin and strangle me for putting them through so much agony.

Without even noticing, I feel tears rolling down my cheek as I continue down a deserted road, moving ever closer to the bridge. They seem to wash the panic from me, leaving me just feeling empty. I can't say I'm not used to that, and it actually makes me feel a little better. Most likely because it's comfortable, normal. I've felt empty for a long time, but not the I'm-missing-something-in-my-life kind of empty. It's more like I am missing a few organs, as if my chest is just hollow. I breathe in but the air doesn't fill my lungs, it just falls into the hollow, leaving me short of breath.

It's like suffocating…

I don't want to die. I'm crying, I'm bringing the bridge closer to me, and the only thing that I'm sure of is that I want to keep living. I don't care what I find, or what I see; I just want to stay alive long enough to find or see it. So I keep walking, or stumbling. I'm not even sure anymore. My legs feel weak, and old. I need to sit, so I do.

My butt hits the pavement and I tuck my knees in close to my chest. My neck pops as I stretch it, along with my arms and shoulders. It feels nice, like waking up from a long nap. It makes me smile a little, but not a big smile. My cheeks feel too tired to smile that big.

For some reason, the time when me and my family went to watch my brother play soccer comes into my mind. I remember it was warm, just like it is now, and there were a lot of people, almost too many to count. I sat next to my dad, because it was back when he still lived with us, back when we were all happy. He kept picking me up and making airplane noises, and I just kept giggling and laughing. It annoyed my mom, and my sister, but then again, everything always annoyed the both of them. Gosh, they were like a duo or no-fun. They always thought they were so mature, when in reality, they were the ones that acted immature.

Maturity isn't being serious all of the time, it's knowing when to be serious and when to be light-hearted. They were always serious, and I think that's what made my dad leave; but I don't know, they never told me exactly why. Me and my dad seemed to always be laughing, so maybe we were immature, but I don't care much; it was fun after all.

My brother was the middle ground. He was the mature one of the family; always knowing what to do when we were indecisive. Always laughing at the jokes that needed laughing at, and always being strong when we were weak (and we were always weak). I remember he let my sister cry on his shoulder for almost the entire day after she was beat up at school.

I always try to be tough like him, but it's hard. I don't know how he does it. It's like a gift or something, like some supernatural ability. It makes me so proud of him. My brother is a super hero, the one and only. I need to be strong now, because if I'm not, I'll never stand back up, and I'll just die here on the ground. He wouldn't want that. He'd put his hand on my shoulder and say…

"Time's a wastin', sis." I heard his voice just as I felt his warm hand grip my shoulder snuggly. I craned my neck to look at him, and there he was, standing behind me. He had his strong expression on his face, the one of caring and joy, yet calm and unmovable. I spring up to hug him, but when I got on my two feet, he was already a good thirty yards away from me at the end of the block. He stood smiling at the intersection before turning and dashing off to the left, down "mulberry" street (from what the sign says).

"Wait!" I yell, beginning to run after him. "Don't leave me again!" I round the corner of Mulberry Street and see him turn right. There's a large sign hanging over the road that reads "Riverside Bridge next left", so I assume that's where he's going. I feel panicked, but also happy; overjoyed really. He's alive, and not only that, but he's here, helping me. What more could I possibly want?

I round that corner, looking down the car-packed road for my brother. I see him as he hops over a car, turns back to smile at me, and then heads out onto the bridge. I feel afraid for him as I hurriedly scramble over , and around the cars. I have the sinking feeling that maybe he'll trip and hurt himself, or what if he accidentally falls off the side of the bridge? I don't want to lose him after just finding him, or, I guess, he found me. Thank you, God, for giving me that blessing.

As I run, I hear "It". It's legs launch "It" from the top of a building near me. I feel what's coming next, and it makes my heart sink. "It" wraps it's arms around the top half of my body, as "It" brings it's weight down on me. I come crashing down with "It", smashing into the pavement just about twenty yards away from the bridge. I feel it's claws dig into me, as I try to kick at "It". "It" wants me dead, "It" wants my blood and my flesh. I just want to live.

"It" gets my ribs, and my stomach. The blood feels warm on my skin, and, as odd as it may be, it feels soothing. It almost makes me stop fighting, and just let it be. But I can't. My brother is on that bridge somewhere, and I have to catch up to him. I can't leave him, he can't leave me. I need him.

I scream, just as I kick "It" off of me. I hop up onto my sneakers, and dash towards the turn off for the bridge. I slide across one car, roll around another, and climb over one more before I hear "It" leap again. I feel the air rush against my calves as "It" lands closely behind me. "It" screams, causing the tiny hairs on my neck to stand up, and also, my vocal chords to vibrate in the way that creates a shriek. As sad as it may be, it practically mimics the scream of "It", but of course, mine doesn't have the same effect as it's did.

I keep screaming as I turn onto the bridge, pushing myself as far as my muscles would take me. I can feel them getting ready to strangle me, but I tell them "only a little further", and for some reason they listen, letting me continue going as fast as I can. I fear that "It" will get my brother. Wait. What if "It" already did? What if he was tackled on the bridge and I'm about to come across his dead corpse? What would I do? What can I do?

"It" jumps again, landing in front of me and turning to face my sweaty, exhausted self. I stop in my tracks, staring as it's eyes scan my body. I don't know what "It" is waiting for, but I want "It" to hurry up. I can't take it. If I'm going to die right now, then make it right now, and not five minutes from now. Just do it you coward! Jump me!

"What the fuck are you waiting for!" I screamed, thinking that it would be one of those movie-moments, and the stare down would continue. But that wasn't the case. "It" leaps, almost immediately after I finish yelling, and seconds after that, "It" lands on me. I feel it's claws come towards me again but something stops "It".

"It" freezes on top of me, it's eyes looking deep inside of me. I feel like I know whoever "It" used to be. I feel like "It" used to love me. I look around "It", hoping to see my brother coming back to help me, and I do see him, but he's standing still, right on the apex of the bridge. He presses his pointer finger against his lips as if to say "stay quiet", and I listen. I stop my breathing, and watch as he turns and walks away. My eyes return to "It", and I can see there's something different. Maybe I missed something, but there didn't used to be a large hole in this things chest.

A gunshot pierces the sky, and it apparently was not the first. My ears hadn't picked up the first, the one that blew a hole straight through "It", sending blood all over me. I hardly noticed it as it dripped from my nose, and even when I did see it, I didn't care. That was the least of my worries. What was that? A gunshot right? Who had a gun? Who was alive? Was it my brother?

"Pep!" That was not my brother, but someone just as familiar.

"Dad?" I questioned, hoping that he would hear me, but I'm sure it came out as a whisper. "It" fell off of me, laying lifeless on the ground, the two holes matching each other on the disgusting scale.

"Pepsi?" It was him, it was my dad. Is my brother with him? "Holy shit! It's you. What the… What happened? Wha…" He fell down right next to me, wrapping his gangly arms around me. It feels odd, as if he's dead, or dying. But he's not dead, he's really here. He really found me! He had to have seen my brother, hadn't he? He just crossed the bridge, which is where my dad just came from.

"Brother, I just saw him." I didn't realize how much blood I had lost, but it was messing with my speech, and my vision. I could hardly see shapes anymore. Everything was meshing together in a swirl of colors and depth.

"Pep," he began, his voice sounding frightened with a hint of worry. "Your brother passed away."

"No!" I scream. "That can't be! I just saw him, he's on the other side of the bridge! Go get him! Go!" I began to spasm, my arms flinging around, and my body flopping like a fish out of water. My dad pressed me against the ground, trying to keep me still and calm, but it wasn't working very well.

"Don't leave him! He'll die!" I keep yelling, my vision growing black. "You can't do this to me; to him! He told me to…" I remember what he did, with his finger, against his lips. He told me to be quiet; so I did. He always knows what to do.

**Tell me what you think. I think you might have a few things to say, or yell about, or whatever. **


	9. Rexy

**So, tell me. Do you know who "It" was? Did I make it to obvious? I know I should have asked this last chapter, but it completely left my mind. Tell me what you think, and where you think this is going. I hope this chapter is to your liking.**

The smell of meat, cooking over a possibly open flame, is what made me wake up. That is a smell I hadn't smelt for weeks, even before I found myself crawling into that closet, and boy does it smell great. I can hardly believe it to be honest. What if I'm dreaming? What if I'm dead?

Which would be worse, dreaming, or dead? I suppose both have their pros and cons. Dreaming, for instance, means I'm still alive (pro), but also that means the smell of savory meats isn't real (con). Dead, well, I'm dead (con) which means I'm in heaven (pro) or hell (con), so yeah, they are both pretty much even. I can even go as far as to say being alive is a con, considering I'm stuck in a zombie apocalypse alone. But wait…

I'm not alone anymore. I've got my brother and my father. Or, I did have my brother. I remember my dad saying that he passed away, so he's dead now, or he was dead. Was I hallucinating him back there in the city? Had he been dead that entire time? If so, how long had he been dead? What killed him? Damn this place, damn it all to hell. They took my brother, and apparently my sanity. If I even had any sanity to begin with.

If he really had been gone this entire time, then why did he tell me to be quiet? Or, why did my hallucination tell me to be quiet? I suppose that's the question. It might have been because it was just a hallucination, so my mind was telling me to not say anything to my dad, or he'd think I was crazy. Well, brain, it's too late, he already knows that I saw him. What if my dad is a hallucination too?

Ok, I'm getting way ahead of myself. I'm not even sure if my brother was one yet, let alone my dad. If my dad was one too, then how did I end up here, wherever here is. It looks like a room, a very familiar room too. In fact, it's my room. This is where I stayed whenever I'd come to visit my dad. The pink, princess wallpaper, and the Aaron Carter poster shows me how little my dad really knew about me back then, but things change, just like people do; everything changes.

I look around the room, taking in all of the nostalgia. I tear up a little when my eyes cross over the old stuffed animal that I slept with every night I was here. It's a T-Rex, lamely named "Rexy". I love it, so much. It kept me safe, and I felt so bad when my dad left, because I swore I'd never see it again. But then, out of nowhere, he picked me up and there it was, in the car like I left it. I remember squealing, unbuckling my seatbelt, and diving into the backseat, picking up Rexy and hugging him until we reached my dad's apartment. I swear Rexy was my only friend…

I try to get up, by a pain in my abdomen leaves me moaning. I fall back onto the bed, and call out for my dad. At first I don't hear a thing, but then there's a shuffling outside of the door. The doorknob jiggles for a moment before doing a full turn, allowing the door to open. My dad walks in, looking shocked, and in pain; just like me.

"What's wrong, girl?" He's limping, and there's a blood stained rag wrapped around his calf. I feel sick, and terribly worried, but not for me, for him. I have this terrible feeling that he won't be my father for long. "You need something to eat?"

"No, dad." I most likely whispered, still feeling weak after being mauled by "It". "What happened to your leg?" He sits down on the end of my bed, looking at me with sad, horror filled eyes.

"Remember how I said your brother passed?" He starts, looking down at the bed instead of at me. I nod to answer him, not even sure if he can see me. "Well, he was attacked, so I was holding him as he bled out. His heart…his heart stopped beating. I don't know for how long, but it did stop beating…I swear it did." He stopped talking, shaking his head as if doubting himself. I don't know why he would do that, he never seemed to doubt himself at all. He was just like my brother; strong and unmoving. Something about him is different, and it makes me feel unsafe.

"After a while though, when I put him down, he started to shake. It scared me, Pep. It scared me half to death. I tried to hold him down, but he lashed out at me, biting me in the leg. It still stings." That's what it is, Pepsi! He was bitten. Isn't that the problem in all zombie movies? It sounds weird thinking about it like that, but it's what it is isn't it? That's what it seems like. That's what it feels like. It feels unreal, and what's more unreal than zombies? I guess I can stop calling them "once-humans".

"Do you think it's dangerous?" I ask, not wanting to really scare him, or myself.

"No way." He says, shaking his head, doubtful again. I look at him with my eyes, my scared, worried eyes, and he knows what I'm trying to say. "You think I'm going to become one of those." He kind of motions out the window behind me, as if there was one standing at that exact spot. He looks scared, his eyes matching mine. It's like he's begging me to say "no", but I can't. I'd start crying.

My head bobs up and down, my mouth not wanting to open to let out any sounds. He tries to fight back tears, but to no avail. It's so odd how things can go from "getting better" to "fuck-my-life" in under three seconds. For some reason though, the thing that hurts me the most, is that he's going to cry. I've never seen him cry before, and now, here on the cusp of my sanity, my last wall is about to crumble. What am I going to lean on after it's gone?

The tears sting a few of the cuts on my face as they get to heavy for my eyes to hold. I see them on my dad's cheeks too. His look older, more frightened, and much heavier. I want to yell at him. I want to say "please hold it together, for my sake. For fucks sake, please don't fucking cry!" I do say it, without even wanting to, but he can't hear over his own sobs. I can hardly hear it myself.

Panic, I hoped that I had felt my last of it, but it came back. It makes me grab the gun from his belt and point it directly at him. I'm crying, and he knows what he has to do, but he doesn't want it. Neither do I. I just want him to hug me, telling me that it's ok to be scared. That's what my brother would have done. Damn it, why did he have to die!

"No, Pepsi." He backs up from the bed, holding his hands up. "Listen, I'll be ok. Just let me…let me go outside." I keep the gun held at him, not having a damn clue what I'm going to do. I don't know how to shoot, let alone if I'm even holding it right. Damn, why do I have to be so clueless? Why do I have to…why do I have to care?

"Just go!" I yell, and I see his eyes shift; from green to gold…a bloody gold. He gets up, muttering something under his breath as he runs from the room, slamming the door behind him. I hear him screaming and a lot of things breaking. I can picture him slamming about in the tiny living room, his arms connecting with just about everything, even the lamp mom got him for an anniversary gift. Gosh, he always hated that thing, or so he said. It was the only light he ever kept on whenever I was over, and most likely whenever I was gone too.

I'm crying, uncontrollably. I feel like I'm going to throw up, but there doesn't seem to be anything coming. It's just gagging, coughing, and more gagging. The tears are dripping from my jaw onto the bloody Metallica shirt, adding even more stains to the recently acquired article of clothing. I cry until nothing happens, and I'm left lying on my old bed, feeling exhausted, starring over at Rexy. Cute, adorable, loving, only-friend-who-happens-to-be-a-stuffed-animal, Rexy.

"I love you." I whisper to him, hoping that he replies, but of course he won't. It's just Rexy. He didn't even talk when I was little, and I believed he could. My only friend and he didn't even want to talk to me. Pretty pathetic right? Yes, yes it is.

The thrashing in the other room stops and I turn to look at the door. What happened? Did he find his way through the door? I hope so. I get up out of bed, grunting through the agonizing pain in my chest and stomach. I want to go to the door, but don't have the strength, so I go for Rexy. His soft body feels warm on my cold hands. Gosh, I didn't even know they were shaking. I can hardly even keep a hold of Rexy, or the gun. The gun…what am I going to do with it? Shoot my dad? I can't, can I?

There's a sound outside the door, it sounds like a knock, but louder, harder. It's him, I know it is. I raise the gun with my right hand, keeping Rexy held close in my left. I wish he could talk now, to tell me what I need to do, what's right. I doubt there's even a right choice right now. What the hell do I do, bro? Come one, you always have the advice. I don't care if you're dead. Crawl your ass out of the grave and come help me. Please?

The door breaks open, almost suddenly, out of nowhere. I let out a scream of terror, dropping my stuffed T-rex and raising the gun while pulling the trigger simultaneously. I hear the shot go off, and I hear his scream as it hits him. I saw what it did to "It", so I close my eyes. That doesn't stop me from hearing what it does to him. The bone cracking, the blood splattering, all of it coming together to make me drop to the ground.

I lift the gun to my temple and pull the trigger…

But nothing happens, except a click. I pull the trigger again, and again, and again until I can't hold the gun anymore, due to my shaking, and crying. When the gun hits the ground the chamber pops open, and five shells pop out, rolling across the ground like marbles. What? How? Why am I not dead? Why is my father dead? Why is my brother dead? Why is everyone but me dead?

I fall to the ground in the mess of bullets. I reach out and grab Rexy, pulling him close to my chest. I feel something warm on my shoulder, but don't have the strength to turn and look. I begin to fade off to sleep, when I hear something.

"Sweet dreams, sis."


	10. All you need

**I know I haven't updated in a long time, but I've been busy as I'm sure you have been as well. As always, I love reviews just like everyone else and I love hearing what you guys/gals think.**

When I wake up I hear rain against the window. With Rexy hugged against my body I walk to the window, pulling back the curtain to reveal a darkened sky. I can't tell what time it is, or if it should be morning or night, but my mind doesn't seem to care. It just tells me to leave. I can't help but agree, because this apartment doesn't feel like home as it used to; it feels more like a graveyard. So many things have died here: my parent's relationship, that little tricycle I used to ride around on when I was little, my father…

My knees give out and my lungs close tight. I cough and cough until my throat feels like its tearing itself apart. Tears are slipping out of my eyes and snot begins to run down my nose. When it stops I'm left lying on the floor like so many other times. My breath is shaky along with my body. I feel like I might shake myself to death.

"It's ok sis." My body tenses, my eyes open in terror. "Everything that happens is meant to happen. Remember that song I used to sing to you?"

It's my brother. The one that's dead or at least my father said he was dead. When someone dies, are there words worth anything anymore? Since my father is…gone…can I really trust that my brother is…gone…too? That Abraham Lincoln guy who freed the Africans died and they're still free. I guess the same applies here. Being dead doesn't change much then, does it?

_ "There's nothing you can do that can't be done…"_

He's singing. I can feel his breath on my ear and I shiver.

_ "Nothing you can sing that can't be sung…"_

Why am I hearing this? Am I crazy? I feel more tears forming in my eyes as my brother steps in front of me. I can tell it's him because of his shoes. They're green, just like mine.

_ "Nothing you can do but you can learn to be you in time…It's easy."_ He's walking away from me now, heading towards the door to my old room. "Come on, Sis. What do ya need?"

_"All you need is love…" _My voice is shaking and I hardly believe that I actually sang it. My brother walks out of my room and I hear him as his voice trails off.

"One more time!"

_"All you need is love…"_ My voice is less timid and I actually feel a little better. It's almost like the words are stones clanking together in my heart to make a spark. It isn't quite a flame, but it's enough to get me to stand up. Rexy is still against my chest; I'm not letting him go. He's all I've got right now.

My father's apartment is on the fourth floor, so I walk down the stairs for what feels like forever. They're oddly clean, untouched by the infection. It makes me want to stay here, but I know I can't. I don't really know what I know, but I feel like I should keep going. I need to find something, anything. Preferably someone.

The stairs come out in the lobby, which is the exact opposite of the stairs. I can tell that this place was hit hard. Luggage is scattered, blood stains are all over the place. It looks like this place was hit harder than most other places. I wonder if this is where my brother was bit. Gosh. I wish I knew where everyone had been when this all started. I wish I knew where my mom was. She was with me in the van when it wrecked. She wouldn't just leave me would she?

My stomach can't begin to think about it, so I force myself to just keep walking. I'm looking at the bags on the floor, wondering who they might have belonged to, and glancing at the walls almost expecting there to be something written on them. There is. Over by the door I see a poster, and next to it, in black marker, there are two large words.

"Keep Running." I walk closer and notice there are other, smaller words accompanying the heartwarming message.

"What if you can't run?"

"Then you're already dead."

"Billy, Get to the middle school. We'll be waiting for you.-Jen"

"The middle school is clean?"  
"The Army's got it quarantined."

"I've seen helicopters taking off from it."

"Which school?"

"The one with the spotlight."

"I don't see any spotlight."

"I think they were talking about the middle school."

"No shit!"

"Yeah, there are a few of them."

"A few? More like thirteen."

"They're talking about Lincoln."

"Which one's Lincoln?"

"Jen, I just came from the school. Shit…-Billy"

"Giant radio tower. To the left of it a few blocks is Lincoln."

"Not sure anyone wants to go there anymore."

"I hear they've got a few more helicopters."

"Yeah? Well you're deaf!"

"Good one, bub."

"All you need…" I freeze as I read it, because it looks like my brothers neat hand writing. The feeling goes away when I see someone finished it.

"Is a gun."

I smile a little as I pull the marker from my pocket. I had completely forgotten it was there.

"Clever." I write it and immediately put the marker away. I stare at the wall for a while, rereading a few things and thinking about what I'm going to do. The middle school was quarantined, or at least it had been. Maybe I should go there. Lincoln is the school I went to after all. Maybe I should…

I hated middle school. I hated it so much. I still hate it. It was miserable. Every day after school I'd feel pathetic, and I had to walk. It was just within "range" as my mom would say, so she wouldn't pick me up. My brother always got a ride though, and so did my sister. My mother's "excuse" was that they stayed later for extracurricular activities, so they couldn't walk. What a load of crap. It pissed me off so much.

I'm getting furious just thinking about it. I close my eyes and take in a few deep breaths as I try to think about other things. Like the girl who used to talk to me during study hall, or the boy we used to stare at. My lips curl into a slight smile at the thought of him.

I don't quite remember what he looked like, but I do remember that she had blonde hair. It was long and silky. That's not important though. I can safely say that study hall was my favorite class, or at least the only tolerable class. After a while though it wasn't like that. The girl and I always stared at him, talking about what we would do if we actually talked to him. One Friday she was talking about how she wanted to sleep with him. I agreed, thinking that we were just talking. The weekend goes by and on Monday, during study hall, she sits with him instead.

It hurt, a lot. She knew that I wanted him, and I knew that she wanted him, so I thought we would be nice and not go after him. But that wasn't the half of it. During lunch I heard him talking (since I "just happened" to be sitting behind him). He was telling his friends about how he "fucked her". I almost vomited and ran to the bathroom. A few minutes later the principal came in with the nurse and asked if I needed to go home. I said yes, but I knew that even if I left I wouldn't be able to get those words out of my head. The way he said it changed my entire outlook on him and her; mainly him though.

I called my mom from the office and she told me to just walk home. I asked her if she was serious and she said I was grounded for the rest of the week. So I walked home, and the next day I stayed home from school. The entire time I kept hearing him say it, over and over again in my head. "I fucked her." "I fucked her." "I fucked her." Without me knowing it I begin to say it while I stand in the lobby. I'm in a trance, and I don't get out of it until I yell it one last time.

My body is shaking again and I see my reflection in the glass doors. It scares me. I scare me. I think I'm crazy… I've been seeing my dead brother, of course I'm crazy. I always thought that if you knew you were crazy then you couldn't be crazy, but I know my brother's dead and I still see him. And why was yelling that? Why do I care so much? I don't want to care. I don't like caring.

"He slept with her," I say it aloud to myself. "Who the fuck cares?" Nothing replies.

"I do." My voice tapers off. "But why?" I'm shaking my head and tears are trailing down my face again. "Why the hell do I cry all the time?" I lean against the door, crying my heart out. I know where I'm going to go, even if I can't even walk right now. I'm going to the middle school. I'm going to find out why I care so damn much.


	11. Rehabilitation

**This scared the crap out of me to write. Hopefully it does the same for you who read. Oh, and a quick warning: There is some strong language in this section. I'm sorry for that. **

Did I ever mention I hate walking? It's really funny because I love running. I enjoy doing cross country and track and such (even if I'm not that great), but I absolutely hate walking. I don't care if it's across town or just to the fridge to get a drink, I hate it. I don't know what it is about it that makes me want to just beat up the people who "love" to walk. It might be the repetitive nature of it, or it might just be the simple fact that it's boring. I don't know. I just hate it.

That's not what's really on my mind as I walk down a street that I vaguely remember. I left the apartment several hours ago, stuffing some food and Rexy into an old flowery, pink back-pack of mine from those days in preschool. The large Metallica shirt had to be retied in the back to keep it from carrying me away with the slightest breeze and I changed my shoes so that they wouldn't match my brothers.

He hadn't said anything since I left the apartment but he is following me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye sometimes, yet when I turn to catch him in the act he's gone. My heart race quickens every time he's near, so even if I can't see him I can tell when he's watching. I want to yell at him, but I've noting to yell.

I miss him…

"All you need is love…" I'm surprised at how weak my voice is, so I sing it again. "All you need is love…" Better, Pepsi, but still pretty weak. I know you can do better. You've got golden pipes, babe. "All you need is love." Thatta girl! Come on now, one more time to really get it! "All you need is love!"

I hear a crash. It sounds like a plank of wood falling onto concrete. I'm not sure where it came from, but my eyes keep darting around hoping to find the source. Another crash comes, this time it's glass. My heart beat quickens…he's near, he has to be. Another crash, this time I know where it's coming from. The building to my right, the short one with the large red "X" painted across it. I've seen a few building with that "X" on them so far, my father's apartment complex being one.

I hear shuffling. It's still coming from the short building. Something, a bucket maybe, tips over and spills some liquid all over the floor behind its walls. The door shakes as if something bumped into it on accident, but it's not an accident because it shakes again, and again, until it slowly opens to reveal a pitch-black room. I stare, my heart beat going faster than I can keep track of. He's there, it's him, that's all.

"Where're you goin' sis?" It's not him. His voice doesn't sound like a snake's, does it? His face is in the darkness though. It's pale, blood oozing from a tiny hole on his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot and his smile is contrasted with razor sharp fangs on either side of his mouth. "All you need is love?"

I shiver as his hand outstretches towards me from the door; its pale and bloody as well.

"I love you sis. Just come here. I'll take you away…" I can feel the lie, it pulsates like my heart. I have no idea what's going on but it's scaring the living shit out of me. I close my eyes and turn to run.

"Where the fuck are you going you filthy little whore!" His voice is thrown at me, knocking tears from my eyes. There I go crying again. I'm a bitch, don't deny it. "You get back here or I'll slit your fucking throat!" It sounds like his voice is in a gutter, the sound gathering up old gunk as it travels along its path. I get hit with memories this time, not just the voice itself. They're bad memories too. Ones that I can hardly remember.

I'm five. I'm playing tag with a few kids. I trip over the edge of a sandbox and fall on an older kid's castle. I start to apologize but the kid turns angry and yells. "I'll fucking kill you."

I'm eight, or nine, I can't remember. My dad's playing an old "Beatles" album. He looks like he's having a great time, so I'm most likely smiling. My mother shows up, and the next thing I know they're both yelling. I hear the word "whore" thrown around by my dad quiet a lot. My mom uses the phrase "your daughter" a lot. "She hates me", I tell my dad, hoping for a lie. He simply says, "She hates me too".

I'm thirteen and I'm in the cafeteria. "I fucked her". "I fucked her".

It's late at night. I just woke up from a bad dream and I find my brother in the bathroom. There's blood all over the sink. He's got a piece of glass in his hands. I start crying, so he holds me. I get his blood all over me.

The memories knock me right off of my feet and onto the ground. I vomit, and for some reason it feels cold, like ice cream. He's still in the doorway, his eyes wide and all knowing. There's blood pouring from his forehead now, covering every inch of his body.

"I'll make you bleed, you filthy little slut!"

It's a few months back and I'm sitting outside. My sister has her boyfriend over and he comes outside and tries to touch me. I smack him and run inside. He tells my sister I came onto him. She finds me and claws me with her perfectly kept nails. I tell my mom, and she says my sister already came to her. "You deserve it." That's how she put it. I throw her hot coffee on the floor, wishing it had been her face that I threw it at instead.

I'm up and running again, my brother's turns away from me revealing a large open wound, like a gun wound. He walks away from the door. It's still open though and from it comes several once-humans. I suppose I said I could call them zombies now. They're coming after me, running a lot quicker than I can. More come from other buildings, looking more alive than me sadly.

The zombies begin to catch up. Their hands reach out to cut at me but somehow I keep the distance. My legs are screaming though, and I know they'll stop me before I can get away. They'll demand respect, and for that I will die. I don't want to die. I really don't. I'm free. I'm finally free from it all. I can't die yet.

"Cause I'm Free!" It comes out in short bursts between rapid breaths. "Free fallin'!"

A spark in the air catches mine, and the zombies, attention. It's a flare, way up on the roof of a rather tall building. It begins to wave in the air and a voice calls out to me. "Hide!" it says. So I do. I duck out of the path of the infected and head for the nearest building. I feel a little relief when I notice the building I am running towards has a large, red, steel door instead of a normal one. Even more so when I see the flare fly from one roof to the next, meaning that there is a person up there, and he/she isn't going to kill themselves just to save me.

I slam the safe-house (nice phrase dontcha think?) door behind me as I dive in. I drop to my hands and knees while I try to catch my breath. It seems useless. My heart's beating fast; it's racing.

"Come on, sis." It's still not him. "Come with me. I can save you." I feel angry. It's boiling inside of me. It has been boiling inside of me for years. It feels like an animal and I don't feel the need to keep it locked up anymore. It wants my "brother" to shut the fuck up. So it tells him.

"Just shut the hell up!" I take in a deep breath. "I don't give a fuck if you're real or just in my fucked up imagination. I hate you! I hate everything you stand for! You're not my brother! You're just…gaaah!" My fist lashes out with that last "word" and it connects with something. It feels cold and fleshy. I punch again and feel the same thing. That's not what my brother feels like. He feels warm, and loving…and bloody.

I'm back in his arms on the bathroom floor. "All you need is love," he whispers. I whisper it back. He smiles. It's not fake.

My fist lashes out again, and again, and again until it hurts. I look for something in the room to pick up and see a fire axe on a small wooden table near the far right corner. I stumble over to it and feel the smooth handle in my tired hands. It's hard to lift but I manage.

"What're you doing?" He's behind me again. I can feel it. "You can't kill me you little bitch. You're just a fuckin' cock-biting slut! Just like mom!"

I scream and swing the axe as I spin to face the thing disguised as my brother. The axe head connects with the side of his skull, spurting blood out onto my hands. I let go of the handle and the zombie drops to the ground.

It wasn't my brother, just like I knew it wasn't. It's just some zombie. Some poor sap that got bitten and just happened to be chosen by my subconscious as a human punching bag. I feel better looking at it. A weight, one I never even noticed, was taken from my heart bit by bit with every punch, and eventually it was removed completely with the axe.

Enlightenment. I'm an angry little girl. I'm an angry little girl with a lot of repressed memories. Good job Pepsi! Way to let all of that crap out while you're alone in a deserted city. Pepsi –1, Zombie Apocalypse-53,595.

**How was it? Scare ya? Even a little? No? Oh well…**

**I've got a question I'd like you to answer. Do you want Pepsi to meet the person on the roof? If yes, do you want him/her to live for a while, or just die? If no, then why?**


	12. Bridge

**Hey. Sorry this one is so, so, so short, but it's just a small bridge that connects the last part of the story with the next stretch of story. Also, Fanfiction is just a hobby of mine, so I'm not always able to write every week, especially when I'm trying to write for a living as well. But I'll keep up with any story that I get inspiration for.**

I like her. She's tall, just like I hope to be, and she's fit. I think fit's the word for it. She's skinny and I can see the muscles in her legs as she jogs, so yeah, I'd say she is fit. She's older too. Not much older though, she couldn't be my grandma or anything. Maybe my mom though. She might be a little young for that though. The shirt she has on is from a college, one relatively close by, the one my brother wanted to go to. With that bit of info I'm just going to assume she's in her early twenties, maybe still in her late teens. What does it matter? She's older than I am, that's all I need to know.

She leads me up a ladder and onto the roof where she had waved the flare. The first thing I notice is the bag of fritos next to a ratty sleeping bag. I walk to them inconspicuously and take a seat. The woman looks sweaty and confused and she walks over to the side of the roof and stares off into the city. I watch her as my hand reaches for the bag; I want them, I really do.

"Are you bit?" She yells as she turns to me with a gun drawn. I don't know the gun, but it's big and shiny. I stare at it and shake my head 'no'. "Say it! I have to hear you say it!"

"No, no, no." I Say quietly. She lowers the gun a bit, but the barrel is still aimed on my chest. "I promise you, I'm clean. I've been safe."

She smirks at this. I'm not sure why and I suppose it's none of my business. It was probably an inside joke between her and her friends back on campus. The gun drops to her side and her face goes from stoic to smiling. Her smile is nice and warm. It's not bright or anything, but she does have clean teeth, they aren't disgusting, they just don't shine. They're like…I don't know how to put it.

"You have a nice smile." I say. She keeps in on and nods her head.

"Thanks." Her eyes go over me like scanners. "Nice shirt." She snickers a bit as she says it and I smile as well. I had completely forgotten about the massive Metallica shirt I had 'borrowed'.

"Got it at a concert the other day." That makes her burst into laughter and I join her. We laugh like clowns on laughing gas and continue till we are both on the floor, clenching our stomachs. I don't know why it's so funny. Well duh Pepsi! Maybe it's because it's been more than two weeks since humanity has gone down the pooper. For some reason that thought makes me laugh even harder.

What finally brings it all to a halt is my stomach. The tiger in it doesn't growl this time. No, no. He roars. It's loud enough for her to hear it and for my cheeks to go red from embarrassment, even though being hungry is nothing to be embarrassed about. Tummies are just not supposed to make that kind of noise.

"Damn." She whispers. "I've only got those Fritos left." We both stare at the bag and Mr. Tiger roars again.

"What do we do?" I ask.

"You eat em'." Her voice is soft but somehow it also felt like a mother's voice (commanding, strong, demanding respect). I open the bag at go at the tiny, cupped chips furiously. We're both quiet for a while, until the sun starts to go down. That's when she spoke up.

"What's your name?"

"Uh, Pepsi."

"No kidding?" She's got her nice smile on again. "That's a wicked name." Her saying wicked makes me smile.

"What's yours?" I ask, still nibbling on the chips.

"Rose." She nods her head as she speaks.

"That's a pretty bad ass name too." We both laugh at that. I don't think she expected me to have 'such a vocabulary' as my mother would have said.

"How're you still alive?" She asks. The mood grows cold, I even think I could see my breath. "I'm only asking because, for all I know you could be a hallucination. I feel crazy half the time."

"Me too." I say, remembering just early when my brother had been following me. He'd said so many things and for some reason they all hurt. We're silent again for a while. This time it's awkward.

"I'll go first." She says.

"No." I say quickly. "I don't need to know yet. We just met."

"Yeah, we've got other things to worry about for now. Like food and water. I'm out of both."

I tell her about the general store a few blocks down and she starts to say 'it won't be safe down there for you' but then she looks at my face and says 'we can go in the morning'. I feel like an adult as I lay down on the sleeping bag. She rolls out another one, most likely from someone she had been traveling with, and lays it down near the ladder.

"I have one question though. How old are you?"

"Let's just say I'm twenty-five." I say and curl up in the warmth.

"Sounds good to me."

Yeah, I like her. I like her a lot.


	13. Groceries anyone?

_Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire!_

Metallica is screaming in my ears as the general store comes into the view of both Rose and I. We're walking slow, practically at a standstill as my eyes dart around towards the building that tower around us. They've gotten taller since we started walking, which tells me that we are getting further into the city. For some reason that makes me feel sick to my stomach.

As my eyes come back around to the store, I notice Rose is just staring at me. I give her a confused look and her mouth begins to move. The way her lips are moving match the words of the song and I give out a chuckle. She doesn't; she looks slightly pissed, so I pull the headphone from my right ear.

"Why do you have that so loud?"

"I don't know," I lie, "It clears my mind." She gives me a confused look. It's the kind of look that tells me she's told a lie or two-million in her time, thus allowing her to know when others lie to her. "Is that what you wanted to ask?"

"No," She says as she looks toward the store. "I was just wondering if you knew any secrets about this place; like back entrances and stuff. Cause we don't really have the recourses to deal with any of those infected freaks."

"I don't think there are. I've only been here a few times with my dad." My heart skips several beats when I say that word, "dad". I think of the gun, the screaming, the cold. I see my brother in the bathroom, the blood running from his palms, but I blink it away, I try to blink it all away.

"You ok?" Rose asks. I look at her, not sure if there are tears in my eyes or not and nod my head. "Good, cause I have a good feeling about this." Her smile is beautiful. It makes me smile and oddly enough, my cheeks ached from not smiling in so long. Rose's hand stretches out from her body and begs for me to take it. I do, and I let her lead me through the parking lot of the grocery store. Her hand feels like it used to be soft, like it used to be loving and kind, but now it feels cold. It feels like its empty.

"I have to be honest," Rose began. "I feel rather odd not knowing a thing about you. I mean, I know we just met, but you're the first person I've seen in so long. And you're just a little girl."

"Hey, now!" I kid. "I'm almost fifteen. I ain't no little girl no more." She chuckles and I force one as well. We walk in silence for a moment longer before I add, "I'll tell you a bit more while we are keeping our tigers at bay."

"Keeping our what?"

"Our tigers." Even after I repeat it I can tell she doesn't quite get it. "Well I don't know about you, but I'm as hungry as a tiger right now, and when my tummy roars it sounds like a tiger." She smiles again and I'm grateful. "But yeah, I'll tell you my short story and you can tell me yours." I give her a smile and she continues hers for a while longer until we reach the front doors.

They look locked from where we stand but that doesn't stop us both from shaking the handles. A large chain, with a lock tucked deep in it somewhere, rattles and we both stop, looking at the glass, both thinking the same thing. Rose begins to look around for something to break through, but I think quicker.

I wrap my fist in some of the shirt that hangs down below my waist and punch through the brittle material. I feel a sting of pain and...

"All you need is love"

_It's late. I try to look at the clock but my eyes are too tired and blurry to see, so I just crawl out of bed and head for the door. The hallway looks darker than normal. I can't quite figure out why, and I hardly even notice as I walk towards the bathroom. It's three doors down and when I reach it I realize why its so dark. The night light that stays on throughout the night to insure easy maneuvering isn't shinning through the bathroom door. And that's because the door's closed._

_ It's never closed, I think to myself. So I knock. It sounds hollow and deep, but there's no reply except for the sound glass makes when it slides across linoleum. I knock again and this time I hear my brother speak. He's been crying, I can tell. Now I'm awake. Now I'm fully awake and opening the door._

_ It's a mess. _

Rose jumps as the glass breaks and a small shard pierces my skin. Nothing major, but it does sting. I shake the memories from my head as I pluck the glass out of the shirt and bring my hand into the light. Rose takes a hold of it and inspects it, like a mother would. She dubs it safe enough and helps me break the rest of the glass away.

She climbs in first and I follow close behind. The place is dark, lit only by the windows at the front of the store, and it sounds deserted. We sit still and scan, our eyes going from the dairy side to the canned goods section and back to dairy before we decide to move.

"Grab whatever." She says and heads towards aisle nine. I smirk and saunter towards aisle six, 'chocolate and candy'. Normally I would complain that chocolate and candy are technically the same thing, but at this point I don't really care. I just want another crunch bar, possibly one of those over-sized Hershey's. Who am I kidding? I'll take five of everything, please?

I think my eyes are watering as I begin to grab anything my little hands can grab from the shelves. Using the Metallica shirt, I make a little basket, quickly filling it with milk chocolate treats and a couple dark ones too. I eagerly tear open the first Crunch bar I come across and swallow it down in a few bites. It feels heavenly traveling down my throat, so I grab another and tear it open.

"We need a bag or something!" I hear Rose yell, her mouth full with one food or another. I yell back an agreement and finish up the second Crunch. I scoop a few more assorted treats into my shirt before I spy a cart at the end of the aisle. I drop what I'm currently holding and rush over to it. A smile lights my face as I fill it with fattening goodies.

It's about seven o'clock when we hear the first roar.

For the longest time, neither of us move. We stay corned near the back of the store until Rose finally stands up. She looks at me and mouths "I'll be back." But for some reason all I hear is _"I fucked her."_ I blink a few times in amazement, but Rose goes off anyways. I hear it repeat in my head, _"I fucked her, I fucked her, I fucked her"_ and it continues until I hear Rose squeal out of horror.

The words disappear from my head and I dash towards the front of the store. She's standing there, he back to me with her hands covering her mouth. I run up next to her and look out the glass doors. I almost squeal too.

**What do you think is outside?**


	14. A Rose by any other name

"It was in the middle of the day. The sun was bright and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, if I remember correctly. I was with a friend of mine, her name was Tara. She was the kind of person who never stopped talking, but I loved her. She was so cool. Especially when someone pissed her off, she really knew how to take someone down a peg or two.

"But anyways, I was with her. We were driving home, we passed by this area of town actually (there was this shopping thing at Penny's, but whatever). We were driving home, listening to the radio, singing when we could, just enjoying the sun. Then something happened a couple miles down the road.

"There was smoke up ahead; a big cloud of it. It was large, ridiculously so. It's ironic really, because the first thing I thought of was 'Dawn of the Dead' (you know, the remake, not the original one). But traffic stopped and we were stuck on 43rd street as this big cloud of smoke just kept rising into the air.

"No one seemed to be panicking or anything, so we just assumed it was a fire or a car accident or something. Then we saw someone walking through the cars, heading in the opposite direction. He was holding what looked like a limp doll in his hands, but we soon realized it wasn't a doll. It was too big…she looked so beautiful, so peaceful."

I watch Rose as she shakes and a tear tumbles down her cheek.

"Then there was an explosion. It shook our car and we saw debris flying every-which-way. Dust came over our car like a wave, covering it in soot and other dusty remains. I began to panic then. I told Tara that we need to leave. She agreed, but she also tried to calm me down. She hugged me and told me jokes, held my hand when we got out of the car and started walking. By then everyone else was starting to follow the lead. The street was packed with people, some screaming, some just talking, some not saying a word.

"Tara kept talking of course, and I'm glad. Her silence would have killed me. We walked for a while, we passed Derry road, and Fourth Avenue, and that's when the terror started. Behind us people started wailing, screaming. We began to get pushed and pulled. Tara grabbed on and we just went with the crowd, the noise around us was deafening.

"I swear she kept trying to talk, even as we were dragged down the street." Rose laughs and I smile. "I heard her say that she loved me…" Her voice cracks and more tears come. "Before I can tell her that I love her too, we're dragged apart." More tears, more sobs. I scoot closer even though I'm not sure what to do.

"I…It was so sudden. One minute she was there with me and the next thing I know, I can't see her. She's gone…she's just gone…I wanted to tell her that I love her, that I needed her…but she was gone!" I go to place my arm around Rose, but I retreat at the last minute. When she composes herself, she continues.

"The crowd led themselves into a dead end. We were all blocked in as more people kept trying to shove their way through. It was suffocating. Then there was blood. I didn't know where it came from, but I felt it sprinkle on my face, like a light drizzle of rain. Then there was more screaming, just more and more. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. Then he was on top of me.

"This disgusting man, open sores, blood in his mouth, you know the kind? He tried to bite me, you know what I mean right? The usual stuff. He wanted me to be like he was. And he almost succeeded. But this other guy, tall, kinda muscular, knocked the disgusting one off of me, then hoisted me up.

"I was carried, literally above everyone, through the crowd. I could see it all happen. I saw people I recognized get bitten or worse. I saw strangers in a way I would never hope so see anyone. The one person I didn't see…was Tara. I couldn't find her and the man wouldn't stop when I started yelling it at him.

"He tossed me through an open window into this closed little Asian-style market. Do you know B.F. Changs? Well that was the one. He climbed in after me and started to pick me up again when I yelled for him to 'wait just a god damn second'. That's when I vomited, and cried, and vomited some more

"He actually waited for me to stop before lifting me onto my feet and forcing me to move. I understand that it was for the best, but I just wanted to die." She laughs again, a sad little laugh. "You know what I mean? Anyways, I was on my legs but it still felt like he was carrying me.

"We went out of Changs and into another building, out of it, into another. We did that for a while until the sounds were faint, but I knew they'd only get louder. We went up a few floors of this apartment like building until we came to a room, the man unlocked it, we went in then he locked it again. I guess it must have been his place, because the inside of it looked like some college dorm.

"The next night or so is blurry, hell the whole thing is blurry. The next thing I remember is talking with the guy. He told me his name was 'Drake' and that he recognized me from school. I recognized him too, he was in my biology class, but I was still confused as to why he saved me. He told me that I was pretty, that made me smile. I told him thanks and he said something that will probably stick with me till I die.

"Don't thank the guy who just brought you into hell, not until I get you out at least." She smiles at me and I smile back. I thought it was a nice quote.

"We talked a lot but we stayed separate when the sounds were loudest. The first three days after he locked us in there, that shit spread so quickly. By day four it was quiet again. Everyone was already dead or gone. We heard knocking every so often, but that's it.

"It was about a week before he began to talk of food and water. I told him I just wanted to die, and that's the one thing I regret. I don't want to die, but I did then. He nodded and left me alone for what felt like the longest time. One day he went out and came back with food. We ate and talked like we did the first few nights. I told him I was sorry, he accepted and said he understood.

"Then…then he…oh, I'm not even sure if I can say it." She took my silence as reassurance and continued anyways. "He tried to... We were sitting there, eating and when he was done he stood up. I held out my plate for him to put away or clean or whatever he wanted to do with it and he took it. Then he smashed it over my head. Knocked me clean out of my chair onto the floor.

"Then he was on top of me and he…he tried to pull my pants down. Like, rape me. But, he couldn't. He was shaking too much and there was blood on his lips. I didn't know it, but he had been bit. I don't know why he tried to do what he did, but I'd like to think it was just because of the infection. He was a nice guy up until then.

"But anyways, he began thrashing. He was kicking and trying to scratch me. I kicked, luckily landing it right in his crotch. He sprawled off of me just long enough for me to get up onto my feet. I ran for the door but when I got there it was locked, of course, and he tackled me through it into the hallway. I got up slowly again and ran down the hallway, he followed, hobbling faster than I thought anyone could.

"I went for the stairs and started going up until I came to the roof. I ran to the edge and half expected myself to jump off, but I just cowered there, hunkered like a little girl. He went to tackle me and bite me, but since I was hunkering he tripped over me. I heard him scream as he fell, it sounded human, and I heard the noise he made when he hit the ground.

"He didn't die immediately. But I waited there for the hour or two it took. I felt I deserved it. The rest of it is as simple as looking at the roof I saw you from. I took everything up there and just waited. Did a lot of thinking and reading, you know? Just waited. Not sure what I was waiting for. You, I guess." Rose smiled again.

Outside, hundreds of infected were wandering the parking lot. When we saw them we decided it was probably best to just wait for morning before heading out. I had told her my story, everything but the hallucinations. I told her about my dad, and Metallica, the guy that hung himself. I told her about school and how I felt like I need to go there.

She said she'd go with me and that's when she decided to tell me her story. Now that it's over, I feel like we are connected now. Like we have to stay together and stay alive because we're the only ones who know that we even exist. If we die, then history will never remember us. I'm not sure if I really care about that, but it is one of the many thoughts that keeps flashing into my head.

Another is the infected outside. Of all the time I've been outside, I've never seen them gather like they are now. They don't seem to be going anywhere in particular, but there is a shit-ton of them. Maybe it's just cause of the city and how close we are to the hub. Or maybe there's some twisted plot involved. Ha, that just sounds stupid. Who ever heard of a zombie story where the zombies have a plan? It sounds like a Stephen King novel or something.

"Thanks for listening," Rose says. Laying her head back against the wall. We're tucked back in the far right had corner of the store, just to be sure that none of the infected can see us. We have all of our food spread out in front of us, our sleeping rolls are setting with our book bags. It looks like a campsite, except inside of an abandoned grocery store during what can only be called a zombie apocalypse.

"Thanks for telling." I smile at her and even though she's got her eyes closed she smiles back.

"Might want to get some sleep, missy. We'll be leaving in the morning right?" I nod my head and slide to the floor, curling up in the ball I love to sleep in. I don't bother to get the sleeping bag out, cause I know I won't sleep long, if I sleep at all.


	15. A little deeper

The zombies didn't disperse when the sun came up. They stayed in the same area, meandering about from wreckage to wreckage as if they were looking for something. Rose and I have taken turns sneaking up to the front and peaking out the large windows. Every time I hoped that they'd be gone so that I, so that we, could leave.

Though, now that I think about it, I'm not entirely sure why I want to leave. Can I take a moment to recap? Would anyone reading this be mad if I do? I guess it doesn't matter, it's my story, not yours. So ha, ha and ha.

Ok, so why do I want to leave? Well that one is simple, I want to get to the school. But why the school? What would I accomplish if I went to the school? It had to do with the boy and the girl, and the hallucinations. Hearing him say it over and over again. "I fucked her" "I fucked her". Just thinking it makes my blood boil.

Why? It doesn't make any damn sense! It makes me angry that it bothers me so damn much! How the hell did I even convince Rose to go with me to the school? Oh, that's right. I haven't. I mentioned that I was going there, but we only agreed to go together because of our conjoined tiger tummies.

"Hey, Rose?" I ask, trying to keep my voice down.

"Wha…? What's wrong?" I didn't notice she had fallen asleep. I guess I startled her so I put my hand on her shoulder and surprisingly it helped. She just closed her eyes again and her breathing returned to a rhythmic pace. I'll ask her later, when I'm sure she won't believe she's in a dream.

"Never mind. Just get some rest." I rub her shoulder for a minute and lay back on my own sleeping roll. I tell myself that I won't go to sleep, that I'll stay up and think about the school, about the girl and the boy. But the next thing I know, Rose is shaking me, calling my name.

"Pepsi," She hisses. "Pepsi, get up. We've got a problem." I don't say anything. I simply pushed her hand away and sat up, rubbing my eyes. The look on her face was comprised of terror and panic, which, needless to say, helped me wake up.

"What is it?"

"One of the zomb's." She's still hissing, like a yell in whisper format. "They got in somehow."

"Just kill it." I say, still feeling like I should be asleep.

"What? No way. With what? I mean, we don't really have anything. Like, no weapons I mean." I think of the pistol from my dad's, but I can't recall if there were any bullets left so I just keep my mouth shut. Rose looks around in a frenzy of head jerks before setting her eyes on mine.

"What do we do?" A sinister plot begins to form in my mind.

"Wanna have a barbeque?"

2.

There were seven canisters of what I can only call 'grade-A-gas', stored in some closet near the other side of the store. We poured one where we had slept the previous couple nights, another we dashed over the first few aisles, another covered the rest of them, we used two to make sure the entire backside was covered and that left us with two.

"We should keep one," Rose said. I gave her an odd look. "Just in case we find a car or something." I agree, because it is a sound idea and because a car would be wonderful. My legs haven't stopped throbbing since this all began. If I ever get a chance to rest for a good month my legs with come out being as fine-tuned as a volleyball player's.

"Well, then we're going to use this last one to make our way outside." Rose looks at me, waiting for me to tell her the rest of my plan. She had seemed completely stunned when I first began to explain it, but she also looked happy. It was the first time I saw her like that, and I liked it. I still like it. I like seeing her feeling good about something, even if it's something as barbaric as burning down a grocery store.

"Hold on. Can you tell me why we're doing this again?"

"To kill and distract the zombies so we can get away and to signal anyone else who might be alive that we are alive too." I pause for a moment before adding. "And just because it's cool as hell." We both smile and Rose's hand wraps around mine and squeezes.

I uncork the last canister we are using and begin to walk towards the front of the store, where the windows and the zombies are. Most of them are outside, but there's still that one who managed to get in. For the past hour or so he's been bumping into the same checkout line, always forgetting that its there when he stands back up. I would feel bad for him if he wasn't a monster. I can care for people, even bad, terrible people. But monsters… it's just not the same.

"Yo! Fuck-face!" I'd never said that before and gosh did it feel great. The zomb turned and bumped into the lane again. I shook my head in disbelief and ran a few feet closer to it before tossing some gas in its direction. The canister acted like a bucket and I just kept heaving until nothing but smelly air came out. Then I ran back to Rose, grabbed my things and grabbed her hand. She gave me a questioning look.

"The pleasure's all yours," I say. She smiles and takes a small pouch of matches from her front pocket. Drawing one from the group, she strikes it, creating fire; creating life. Then she drops it. The fire kicks up immediately, so quick that it catches me off guard. I drop my bag and start to run.

Much to my dismay, Rose does the exact same thing as I. I hear her shoes hitting the ground behind me as we both dash for the front door. The fire races passed us though, killing the infected that was still hobbling about by the checkout lanes, and blocking the doors. Neither of us speak, we both just stare. The wall of fire looks alive, like it knows that we are there and it wants us dead. It wants to be fed with our bodies.

For a moment Rexy pops into my head and I realize my bag must be long gone. Chewed up by the fires and spat into hell. A pain tears across my head and I clutch at it. Rose is yelling something, something I can't understand. It sounds like gibberish to me. The only thing I can make out is "I fucked her, I fucked her, I fucked her." It hurts so much. Like my brain is just paper and some kindergartener is tearing it up with a pair of paper safe scissors.

_"I fucked her!" The boy is yelling in my face. I have my back against the wall of some grimy wall and he's over me, his face spitting anger out of every pore. "I fucked her even though she said no! What're you gonna do?" _

_ I don't say anything, I only cry. _

_ "That's right, you little bitch." The boy puts his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a well polished handle. With the flick of his wrist a blade pops out of it. "Cry like a little girl, because if you tell anyone, I'll fuckin' kill you." His voice drops to a whisper but I still hear. I hear all of it._

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" I scream. My voice cracks and snaps, like twigs under a mans foot; but I still scream. I scream at the fire, the one that surrounds me in more than one way. It feels empty, like nothing changed. No matter how angry I got at that fire it would never go away.

"Pepsi?" Rose's voice in my ear makes a tear run down my cheek. Then another, and another until my vision is blurry. But that's not because of the tears, it's because I've fallen over. It's because I've passed out.

3.

As I sleep I dream of the boy screaming, over and over again. Every time I do nothing. Every time it's the same. Every time I wish I would do something more than just cry. I'm such a coward. I'm such a fucking coward. Look at me, big girl Pepsi, using curse words because she thinks it makes her all grow'd up. Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!

Fuck me. I hate this. I hate me.

No, I don't mean that. I don't hate it. I like it actually. Rose…she's been more like a mother and a sister to me than my family would ever have been. They're probably dead…or worse. Why aren't I looking for them? Oh yeah, because of the school. But why the school?

Because he fucked her, even when she said no. Because every time I see it happen, it's different, There's more to it. There's more to everything.


	16. Homecoming

**Hey,**

**Sorry that it's been so long. I've been going to film school, learning how to be a director/writer. I'm working on a "Halo" treatment, yay! Anyways, I'm sorry it's taken so damn long. But here it is. Enjoy.**

I'm hobbling out of smoke and flame, supported by Rose. She's covered in ash and hacking at the thick blackness that is following us. The smoke is like a monster on its own, racing out of the grocery store into the empty street. Rose keeps me up until we get out of the monster's clutches, then she collapses. I fall too.

I close my eyes for a second. When I open them Rose is carrying me. There are grimy walls around me, flashes of graffiti, chipped brick. The walls are tight, packed with dumpsters and dead cars. It feels safe, so I close my eyes again.

_I open them as a rubber ball blasts by my face. I flinch and duck down to pick it up. It's big in my hands, but I manage to throw it. It hits Bobby Matthews and he sits on the bleachers. _

_I notice my friend, Trisha, sitting down too. It's odd because I don't remember her getting hit, or even playing. Then a ball hits me in the face and I…_

Open my eyes to a football field, from high up in the bleachers. It smells like game day went and threw up a zombie apocalypse all over what would have been a gorgeous one hundred yards.

I don't see anyone, so I panic. I get up and start rushing through the steel seats yelling for Rose. She doesn't answer before I get to the end of the row of bleachers, so I start going down, towards the field.

I'm screaming for her, for my dad, for rexy…

Then I hear Rosa yell back, so I turn to see her back up towards where I woke up. My foot snags and I fall.

I wake up in her arms, jostled by her tired walk. I feel bad for her, for having to carry me. Come on Pepsi! Hold yourself up for Christ's sake. You're not five anymore, you can stand. You've survived thus far.

Then she looks down at me and my half awake state. She smiles and tells me to rest. She says that I deserve it and though I don't believe her, I do close my eyes.

_I open them after I get the eye last out of my eye. I standing by Trisha. She's tucked her body into a ball on the bleachers. I can hear her sobbing. The last time I saw her was when she went with that boy…the one I liked. I'm still kinda pissed about that. _

"_What's wrong?" I ask her. _

_She looks up. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot, black rings capture her eyes. I recoil back, like I'd seen a ghost, and she runs out of the gym. I start to follow but a ball hits me in the back of my head and…_

I wake up in the back seat of a car. There's cold wind hitting my calves. I'm face down against a rough fabric. When I roll over I find that the sun is gone. The stars look vibrant against the black sky. It looks beautiful.

Rose is in the front seat, but not behind the wheel. She's in the reclined passenger seat, snoring. It makes me laugh and I sit up. I brush the hair from her face and look out the window.

It's busted. She must have broken it to get into the car. I know it's not safe for us to both sleep with an open window, but my eyes feel heavy and my throat feels like its coated in that black smoke. I cough a few times, startling Rose from her slumber, then I fall back to sleep.

_I'm running down the halls, looking for Trish. She's nowhere to be seen. Class is in session and the halls are empty except for me…and someone else. The boy, he's behind me, down the hall. _

"_Hey," he turns to me. "Have you seen Trish? She looked upset."_

_He smiles and laughs. I suddenly feel insecure, afraid. He feels evil…_

"_Yeah, I saw her alright." He starts walking towards me._

"_What do you mean? Where is she?"_

"_She told me how much you like me." I suddenly don't give a shit about Trish anymore. How could she tell someone that? How could she tell THE someone about that?_

"_I think it's pretty cute that both of you do." He's within kissing distance now. I can feel his breath and the insecurity comes back. "Maybe next time it'll be both of you instead of just her." _

_His hand is on my chest. I slap it away and take a few steps back. He just steps closer and does it again. I slap and run away this time, dodging into the girls' bathroom._

_I feel sick…_

_I feel alone…_

_Then I hear his footsteps behind me. I turn and there he is, within kissing distance again. _

"_She wasn't any good, you know?"_

"_What did you do to her?"_

"_What do you think I did?" He steps even closer somehow. I slap him._

"_Get out of here! I'll tell the principal!"_

"_Yeah, like he'll believe you." The boy grabs my chest again and I slap yet again. _

"_What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He yells._

"_What did you do to my friend?" The boy slams me against the wall and grins an evil grin. _

_"I fucked her!" The boy is yelling in my face. I have my back against the wall of some grimy wall and he's over me, his face spitting anger out of every pore. "I fucked her even though she said no! What're you gonna do?"_

_I don't say anything, I only cry._

_"That's right, you little bitch." The boy puts his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a well polished handle. With the flick of his wrist a blade pops out of it. "Cry like a little girl, because if you tell anyone, I'll fuckin' kill you." His voice drops to a whisper but I still hear. I hear all of it._

_I try to wriggle free and he hits me hard across the face._

I wake up crying. I wake up crying back in the football field. It's still night time. I look around and Rose is lying a few bleachers down from me. Her chest is rising really quickly and her right arm is drenched in blood.

I rush down to her, caller her name. When I get close I see that her eyes are open and she looks at me. She smiles.

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep in that car…"

I'm still crying. It's my fault. It's all me fault. She was bitten…

"It's not your fault," she takes a deep breath to calm herself. "You breathed in too much smoke…I thought you were dead. Your breathing stopped a few times and that last time was in the car. You coughed so much…"

I try to say that I'm sorry, but I cough again. My vision starts to go black. I can't stop myself from coughing. I feel blood in my mouth. It hurts so much. Rose is smiling. I wish her smile was medicine. It hurts so much.

_My brother's on the floor in the bathroom. His wrists are bleeding so much…so damn much. But he's singing to me, trying to stop me from crying. It doesn't work, it only makes me cry more. He hugs me with his bloody arms._

"_I'm so sorry, Pep," he whispers. "I'm so sorry for what happened."_

_He hugs me…_

I spring awake on the bleachers. My head feels clear as do my lungs. I rub my lips and find dried blood. I take in a deep breath and it feels raw, like the air is scrapping at my lungs. But it feels good.

I take another and look down at where Rose is…

Her face is unrecognizable…

She shot herself with the gun, probably right after I passed out again. Hopefully she did it before she started to turn. Oh gosh, her face is unrecognizable.

I cry. I lay my head on her chest and cry. I wish she was alive to hold me like my mommy used to, a long, long time ago. I need to know that it's okay. I need to know that it's all okay. But no one can say that to me now…

Her face is unrecognizable…

Jesus…

I get away from her, running down the bleachers and out onto the field. When I make it to the fifty yard line I drop to my knees, sobbing like I did for my father. I wish he were alive too. I wish they were all alive.

But that's not important.

What is important is what I'm kneeling on. The giant fighting bee of Boulder-Ridge high school. The giant fighting bee that was my mascot. Rose carried me to the school…to my school.

**Review! Tell me what you thought.**


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